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THE ORANGE PLUME; 


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THE BHIDE OF THE BASTILE. 



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TEANSLATED FKOM THE FKENOH, 


By Henry L. Williams, Jr. 

EXPRESSLY FOR 

XiOITGh’S OF F, O lS/£ -A. IST O B 


NEW YORK: 

E. D. LONG & 00., PUBLISHERS AND BOOKSELLERS, 


No. 26 ANN STREET. 



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r T H E ORANGE PLUME. 


TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH “ 

/ 

BY HENRY L. WILLIAMS, JUNE. 


CHAPTER I. 

CAPTAIN RO QUEFINET T E . 

On the twenty-second of March in the 
year 1718, the day of Mid-lent, a young 
man of haughty mien, aged twenty-six 
on twenty-eight years, mounted upon a 
fine Spanish horse, was, towards eight 
o’clock of the morning, at the extrem- 
ity of the Pont-Neuf which leads 
into the quay de I’Ecole. He was so 
straight and firm in the saddle that one 
would have believed that he had been 
placed there as sentinel by the lieute- 
nant general of the police of the king- 
dom, messire Yoyer d’Argenson. 

After nearly half an hour of this po- 
sition, during which he seemed more 
than once to impatiently question with 
his eyes the clock of the Samaritan, his 
gaze, 'wandering till then, seemed to 
stop with satisfaction upon an individual 
who, coming from the place Dauphine, 
turned to the right, and set out towards 
him. 

This person who had the honor thus 
to attract the young cavalier’s attention 
was a large man, five feet eight in height, 
wearing instead of a wig a forest of 
black hair spiinkled with grey, arrayed 
in a dress half civilian, half military. 


adorned with a shoulder-knot which had 
been red primitively, and which, from 
being exposed to the rain and sun, had 
become yellow. He was armed with a 
long sword which beat formidably 
against his legs, finally he wore a hat 
ornamented with lace and a plume, and 
which, in recollection no doubt of its 
past splendor, its master bore so much 
inclined over the left ear that it seemed 
to rest in that position but by a miracle 
of equilibrium. There was besides in 
the figure, in the bearing, in the ensemble 
of this man — who appeared forty five or 
six years old, and who advanced, taking 
the wall, twirling his moustache with 
one hand, and making with the other 
signs for the vehicles to pass at large — 
such a character of insolent carelessness, 
that he who followed him with his e 3 ^es 
could not refrain from smiling and mut- 
tering through his teeth; 

“ I think this is my affair !” 

In consequence of this probability, 
the young man marched straight up to 
the new-comer with the visible intention 
of speaking to him. The latter, seeing 
that it was he whdm he had business 
with, though he knew not the cavalier, 
stopped in front of the Samaritan, ad-f 
vanced his right foot to the third posij 
tion, and waited, one hand on his sword 


4 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


the other at his moustache, to see what 
the personage who came thus to meet 
him had to say. 

In fact, as had been foreseen by the 
man of the orange ribbon, the young 
man stopped his horse in front of him, 
and carrying his hand to his hat : ‘‘ Sir,’^ 
said he, ‘‘ I believe I recognize in your 
air thixt you are a gentleman. Am I 
wrong f’ 

No^ palsambleu, sir replied he to 
xvhom this strange question was address- 
ed, in his turn touching his hat. ‘‘I am 
truly glad that my air speaks so highly 
for me, but if you should give me the 
title which is my due, you would call 
me captain.’’ 

“ I arn enchanted that you are a man 
of the sword, sir,” returned the horse- 
man, bowing. “ It is a certitude the 
more that you are incapable of leaving 
an honest man in confusion.” 

‘‘ Be he welcome, provided it is not 
of my purse the honest man needs aid, 
for I avow frankly that I have left my 
last coin in a cabaret of the port de la 
Tournelle.” 

‘‘ He has no need of your purse, cap- 
tain, and on the contrary, it is nxine 
which I beg you to think is at your dis- 
posal.” 

“ Of what can I have the honor of 
speaking,” demanded the captain, visi- 
bly touch! d by the reply ‘‘and what 
can I do that is agreeable to you ?” 

“I am named the baron Rene de 
Valef,” replied the cavalier. 

“ Pardon, M. le Baron,” interrupted 
’the captain, “ But I think I have in the 
wars in Flanders, known a family of 
that name.” 

“It is mine, sir, I am Liegeois in 
origin.” 

The two sail n ted again. 

“ You must know then,” continued 
the baron de Yalef, “ that the Chevalier 
Raoul d’Harmental, one of my intimate 
friends, had last night, in company with 
me, a bad quarrel which was to finish 
tins morning with a duel ; our adversa- 
ries are three and we but two. I 
went this morning to the Marquis de 
Gace and to the Count de Surgis, but 
unfortunately neither the one nor the 
•other had passed the night in his bed ; 
•so, as the affair cannot be put off, as I 


depart for Sprain in two hours, and as 
we must absolutely have a second, or 
rather a third, I came to instal myself 
upon the Pont-Neuf with the intention 
of accosting the first gentleman who 
passed. You were passing : I addressed 
yon.” 

“And you have done well, pardieu ! 
Baron, I am your man. And at what 
hour, if you please, is the duel ?” 

“At half past nine this morning.” 

“ Where does the thing take place 

“ At the porte Maillot.” 

“ The deuce ! there is no time to lose! 
But you are mounted and I on foot : how 
is that to be arranged 

“ There is a way, captain.” 

“ What r 

“ That is that you mount behind 
me.” 

“ Willingly, M. le Baron.” 

“ I will first tell you,” added the 
young cavalier smiling slightly “ that 
my horse is swift.” 

“Oh! 1 see that,” said the captain, 
receding a step and surveying the fine 
animal with the eye of a judge. “ I am 
very wrong or he is from the mountains 
of Grenada or the Sierra Morena. I 
rode a like one at Almanza, and I more 
than once slept on his back while he 
galloped.” 

“ Then you reassure me. To horse, 
captain, and the porte Maillot.” 

“ I am there, M. le Baron.” 

And, without using the stirrup w'hich 
the ^rnung lord left free, with a bound, 
the captain sprang on the croup. 

The baron spoke true. His horse 
was not habituated to so heavy a load. 
So he at first tried to shake it off ; but 
the captain had not lied to him, and 
the animal soon felt that he was too 
strong for him, for after two or three 
bounds which had no other result than 
displaying to the eyes of the passers-by 
the skill of the two liorsernen, he took 
the course obediently and trotted rapid- 
ly down the quay de I’Ecole, winch, at 
this epoch, w’as still but a landing, cross- 
ed, at the same pace, the quay of the 
Louvre, and the quay of the Tuileries, 
passed the door of the Conference, and, 
leaving to the left the road to Versailles, 
threaded the great avenue of the Champ 
Elysees, which conducts to-day to the 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


5 


Arch of Triumph. On reaching the 
An tin bridge, the Baron de Valef slack- 
ened a little the speed of his horse, for 
he saw that he had time enough to reach 
the porte Maillot at the hour agreed. 
The captain profited by tliis moment of 
respite. 

“ Now, sir, without indiscretion,” 
said he, can I ask for what reason we 
go to fight ? I have need, you under- 
stand, to be instructed, so that I may 
regulate my conduct towards my ad- 
versary, and to know if the thing needs 
the penalty of m}^ slaying him.” 

‘‘ That is very just, captain,” replied 
the baron. These are the facts which 
have passed. We supped last evening 
with Fillon. You know Fillon, cap- 
tain 

‘‘ Pardieu ! It was I who launched her 
Into the world in 1705, before my Ital- 
ian campaigns.” 

Well !” replied the baron, laugh- 
ingly, “ you can boast, captain, of hav- 
ing found a pupil who does you honor. 
In brief, we supped with her face to face 
with d’Har mental.” 

Without another creature of the 
fiiir sex'?” asked the captain. 

Oil, yes ! I must say that d’Har- 
mental is a sort of Trappist, loving but 
one woman at a time, and sighing for a 
quarter of an hour with the little d’Av- 
erne, the wife of the lieutenant of the 
guards.” 

Very well.” 

We were speaking of our affairs, 
when we heard a joyous party entering 
the next cabinet. As what we had to 
say regarded no one, we smoked silent- 
ly, and could not but listen to our neigh- 
bors’ conversation. Was it by chance'? 
our neighbors spoke just of the same 
thing we did not understand.” 

Of the chevalier’s mistress, per- 
haps ?” 

“ You have said it. At the first words 
we heard of their discourse, I rose to go 
out ; but instead of Raoul following me, 
he put his hand on my shoulder, and 
made me reseat myself. ‘ So,’ said one 
voice, ‘ Philip inclines to the little d’- 
Averne V 

“ ‘ Since the ball of the marshal d’Es- 
trees, where, disguised as Venus, she 
gave a sword-belt, accompanied with 


verses in which she compared him to 
Mars.’ 

“ ‘ But that’s eight days ago,’ said a 
third voice. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied the first, ‘ She makes 
a sort of defence, whether she really in- 
clines to this poor d’Harmental, or 
whether she thinks the regent loves but 
when he is resisted. In fine, this morn- 
ing, in exchange for a basket of flowers 
and jewels, she replied that she would 
receive his Highness— ’ ” 

“ Ah !” interrupted the captain, “ 1 
begin to comprehend. The chevalier is 
angry.” 

Justly ; instead of laughing, as would 
you or I, so I hope, and profiting by the 
circumstance to throw up his colonel’s 
commission, d’Harmental became so- 
pale that I thought he would swooiii. 
Then, approaching the partition and rap- 
ping at it to cause silence. 

“‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘I am too 
angry to refute it, but he of you who 
says that madam d’Averne has accorded 
a meeting to the regent, or to any other, 
lies !’ 

“ ‘ It is I, sir, who said the thing, and 
will sustain it,’ replied the first voice ; 
‘and if it displeases you, I am called 
Lafare, captain of the guards.’ 

“ ‘ And I, Fargy,’ said the second 
voice. 

“ ‘ And I, Ravanne,’ said the third 
voice. 

“ ‘ Very well, gentlemen,’ resumed d’- 
Harmental. ‘ To-morrow, nine o’clock, 
or half-past nine, at the porte Maillot.’ 
And he reseated himself before me. 
The gentlemen spoke to the same effect, 
and we finished our supper. That is all 
of the affair, captain, and now you know 
it as well as I.” 

The captain made a sort of exclama- 
tion which signified, “ All is not serious,” 
but despite his half disapprobation of 
the chevalier’s susceptibility, he resolv- 
ed not the less to sustain with his best 
the cause the champion of which he had 
so unexpectedly become, somewhat de- 
fective as the cause appeared to his 
mind. Besides, whatever his intention 
it was too late to recede. They had ar- 
rived at the porte Maillot, and a young 
cavalier, who appeared waiting, and who 
perceived from afar the baron and the 


6 


THE ORA.NGE PLUME ; OR, 


captain, spurred his horse to a gallop, 
and rapidJy approached. It was the 
Chevalier d’lTarmental. 

My dear Chevalier,” said the Baron 
de Valef, exchanging with him a shake 
of the hand ; “ permit me, in default of 
an old Iriend, to present to you a new 
one. Neither Surgis nor Gace were at 
home. I met this gentleman upon the 
Pont Neuf, I explained my distress, 
and heotfered himself to us with marvel- 
lous grace.” 

‘Mt is then a double acknowledgement 
I owe you, my dear Valef,” replied the 
chevalier, throwing upon the captain a 
look which had something of astonish- 
ment, and to you, sir,” continued he, 

I owe excuses which I should have 
proffered you at first for this affair ; but 
I offer myself to you some day in return, 
and 1 beg you, the case occurring, to dis- 
pose of me as I now dispose of you.” 

“Well said, Chevalier,” replied the 
captain, leaping to the ground, ‘‘ and you 
have such manners, that I would go for 
you to the end of the world. The pro- 
verb is right, it is but the mountains 
which one never meets.” 

“ Who is this original ?” inquired d’- 
Harmental of Valef, while the captain 
“marked time” with his feet to relieve 
his legs. 

“ Ma foi ! I am ignorant,” said Valef, 
“ but I do know that without him we 
should .be completely puzzled. Some 
poor officer of fortune, no doubt, that 
the peace has thrown upon the cards 
like many others. Besides, we can judge 
soon by his work.” 

“Well!” said the captain, animated 
by the exercise he had taken. “ Where 
are the men ? I am in the vein, this 
morning, chevalier.” 

“ When 1 came to yon,” replied d’- 
Harmental, “ they had not yet arrived ; 
but 1 perceiYe at the end of the avenue 
a hackney'c^ach, which will serve them 
as an excuse if they are late. Besides,” 
added the chevalier, taking from his fob 
a very fine watch, adorned with bril- 
liants, “ there is no time to lose, for it 
is nearly half-past nine.” 

“ Go then to them,” said Valef, dis- 
mounting from the horse and throwing 
the bridle to d’Harrnental’s valet ; “ for, 
if they arrive while we are chatting here, 


it will be us who have the air of making 
them wait.” 

“ You are right,” said dTIarmental. 

And dismounting in his turn, he ad- 
vanced towards the entrahce of the 
wood, followed by his two companions. 

“ The gentlemen order nothing ?” de- 
manded the proprietor of the restaurant, 
who stood by the door. 

“ Master Durand,” replied d’Har men- 
tal, who would not, from the fear of 
being disturbed, have the air of having 
come for any other purpose than taking 
a walk, “ a breakfast for three. We will 
make a tour of the garden and return.” 

And he dropped three louis into the 
host’s hand. 

The captain saw the three louis fall 
one after another, and calculated with 
the quickness of a consummate amateur 
what could be had at the Bois de Bou- 
logne for seventy-two livres : but as he 
knew with whom he had an affair, he 
judged that a recommendation on his 
part would be useless ; in consequence 
approaching in his turn the master of 
the, hotel. 

“ Here, my friend,” said he, “ you 
know that 1 understand the value of 
things, and that it is not a point with 
me to pass all but the total of a bill. 

Let the wines be fine and varied, and 
let the breakfast be ample, or I’ll break 
your bones ! You understand 

“Be easy, captain,” replied master 
Durand ; “ It is not a veteran like you 1 
try to deceive.” 

“That is well. It is twelve hours 
since I have eaten : regulate by that.” 

The host bowed like a man who knew 
what was said, and proceeded to his kit- 
chen, beginning to think that he had 
made a less good affair than he at first 
had believed. As for the captain, after 
making a last sign of recommendation, 
half friendly, half menacing, he quicken- 
ed his pace and joined the baron and 
the chevalier, who had stopped to wait 
for him. 

The chevalier was not wrong as to 
the place of the hackney coach. At the 
turn of the first alley, they perceived 
the three adversaries who had descend- 
ed : they were, as we have already said, f 
the Marquis of La fa re, the Count of 
Fargy and the Chevalier de Ravanne. 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILB. 




Will our readers permit us to give 
them some short details of these three 
personages, whom we shall see reappear 
many times in the course of this history. 

Lafare, the most known of the three, 
from the poetry which he has left, and 
his military career, was a man of thirty- 
six or thirty-eight years of age, counte- 
nance open and frank, of inexhaustible 
gaiety and good humor, always ready 
to pass from the game to weapons, with- 
out rancor and without hatred, a 
lover of the fair sex and of the regent, 
who had appointed him captain ot his 
guards, and whom, since the ten years 
he had admitted him into his intimacy, 
had found his rival sometimes, but al- 
ways his faithful servant. So, the prince, 
who was in the habit of giving surnames 
to all his companions and his mistresses, 
had never designated him but by that 
of good child. In the mean time. La- 
fare’s popularity since it had been es- 
tablished, swayed strongly amongst the 
women of the court and the girls of the 
Opeya. Rumor ran high that he was to 
become a man of rank. It is true that 
some persons to preserve his reputation, 
said, though low, that this apparent con- 
version had no other cause than the jea- 
lousy of Mademoiselle de Conti, daugh- 
ter of madam the duchess and grand- 
child of the great Conde, who, they as- 
sured, honored the Regent’s captain of 
the guards with particular affection. Be- 
sides, her intimacy with the Duke de 
Richelieu, who passed on his side as the 
lover of Mademoiselle de Charolais, 
gave a new impetus to the rumor. 

The Count de Fargy, who was usually 
styled the handsome Fargy, substituting 
the epithet his appearance called for for 
that which he had received from his 
fathers, was cited as the most handsome 
man of his period ; who, in this era of 
gallantry, imposed obligations before, 
which he never receded and which he 
always kept with honor. He had at 
once one of those natures, elegant, vari- 
'^able and lively, w^hich seemed endowed 
I vith most opposite qualities to the he- 
^es of romance in that day. Add to 
\ at a charming head in which united 
the most diverse beauties, that is to say 
black hair and blue eyes, strongly mark- 
ed features, with the tint of a woman. 


Join to that, spirit, loyalty, as much 
courage as the bravest of the world, 
and you have an idea of the high consid- 
eration which Fargy bore in the society 
of that foolish era, so good an apprecia- 
tor of the different species of merit. 

As for the Chevalier de Ravanne, who 
has left us of his youth memories so 
strange that, notwithstanding their au- 
thenticity, they are so full of the apocry- 
phal, that they can be but doubtful to 
us, he was a child scarcely out of the 
page, rich and of a great house, who- 
entered into life by its gilded doors, and 
who ran straight to pleasure with all 
the passion, avidity, and imprudence of 
youth. He was imbued, as it is the' 
habit at eighteen years, in all the vices 
and all the qualities of his times. One 
may comprehend what was his pride at 
serving as second to men like Lafare and 
Fargy, in a duel which would make 
some noise in the streets and at the lit- 
tle suppers. 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE DUEL. 

As soon as Lafare, Fargy and Rav- 
anne turned the angle of the alley, they 
marched on their part towards them. 
On arriving within ten paces of each 
other, all took their hats in hand with 
that elegant politeness which was, in 
such circumstances, one of the charac- 
teristics of the aristocracy of the eigh- 
teenth century, and, saluting each other 
stepped forward thus with bared head 
and a smile upon their lips, which to 
the eyes of a passer-by would have led 
him to suppose, if he did not know of ^ 
the cause of their meeting, that they 
were friends enchanted at having fallen 
in with each other. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the Chevalier 
d’Harmental, to whom the first word 
by right belonged, “ I hope neither you 
nor I have been followed ; but, as we 
may be disturbed here, I think we had 
better withdraw at first to a place more 
solitary, where we> will be more at our 
ease in settling this little affair which 
has brought us together.” 


8 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


Gentlemen,” said Ravanne, ‘‘ I have 
what wdll do ; a hundred paces or less 
from here is a veritable retreat ; you 
would think you were within the The- 
baide.” 

‘‘ Then follow the child,” said the 
captain, “ innocence brings us safety !” 

Rava iiie turned and eyed from head 
to foot our friend with the orange rib- 
bon. 

“ If you have no engagement with any 
one, my dear sir,” said the young page 
in a bantering tone, “ I claim the prefer- 
ence.” 

An instant, Ravanne,” interruped 
Lafare. “ I have some explanations to 
give M. d’Harmental.” 

M. Lafare,” replied the chevalier, 

your courage is so well known that 
the explanations you would offer me is 
a proof of delicacy for which I have a 
great esteem; but these explanations 
will uselessly delay us, and I think v^e 
have no time to lose.” 

“ Bravo !” cried Ravanne, that is 
what is called speaking, chevalier ; once 
we have finished this throat-cutting, I 
hope you will grant me your friendship. 
I have heard you strongly spoken of 
before, and wished much to form your 
acquaintance.” 

The two men bowed agan. 

‘‘ Com(‘, come, Ravanne,” said Fargy, 
‘‘ since you are our guide, show us the 
road.” 

Ravanne leaped instantly into the 
wood like a young fawn. His compan- 
ions followed. The horses and the hack- 
ney coach remained in the road. 

At the end of ten minutes walk, 
during which the six adversaries pre- 
served the deepest silence, either for 
fear of being heard, or from that natu- 
ral sentiment which makes a man at the 
moment of peril keep all to himself, 
they found themselves in the middle of 
a clearing surrounded on all sides by a 
thicket of trees. 

“Well, gentlemen,” said Ravanne, 
casting a satisfied glance around him, 
“ what say you of the place 1” 

“ I say that you should vaunt of the 
discovery,” said the captain, “ as well as 
Christopher Columbus did his. You 
had better have told me that this was the 
place where you would go, and I could 


have conducted you here with my eyes 
shut.” 

“Well, sir,” replied Ravanne, “We 
shall see if you go out as you come 
in.” 

“You know that it is with you I have 
concern, M. de Lafare,” said d’Harmen- 
tal, throwing his hat upon the grass. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the captj^in of the 
guards, following the chevalier’s exam- 
ple ; “ and I also know that nothing 
at the same time gives me such pain and 
such honor as a meeting with you, above 
all- for such a motive.” 

D’Harmental smiled like a man on 
whom this flower of politeness had not 
lost point, but he replied by drawing his 
sword. 

“ It appears, my dear Baron,” said 
Fargy to Valef, “ that you are upon the 
point of going to Spain ?” 

“ I was to depart last night even, my 
dear Count,” responded Valef, “and 
nothing loss than the pleasure of seeing 
you this morning determined me to re- 
main till this time, as it is for things of 
importance.” 

“ The deuce ! that grieves me,” said 
Fargy, unsheathing his sword, “ for if 1 
have the misfortune to delay 3^011, that 
might cause worse than death.” 

“ Not so. I know that it is out of 
pure friendship, my dear County” re- 
plied de Valef. “So do your best, I 
am at your orders.” 

“ Come, come sir,” said Ravanne to 
the captain, who properly arranged his 
apparel and placed his hat near him, 
“ you see that I am waiting for you.” 

“ Be not impatient, my fine young 
man,” said the old soldier, continuing 
his preparations with that phlegm which 
to him w^as natural. One of the most 
essential qualities of weapons is cool- 
ness. I was like you at your age, but 
at the third or fourth sword-thrust I re- 
ceived, I saw" that I had gone wrong, so 
I turned back to the straight road. 
There !” added he, drawing his sword, 
which w^e have said was of the utmost 
length. 

“ Peste, sir !” said Ravanne, glancing 
at his adversary’s w"eapon, “but you 
have a charming colchenard ! It recalls 
the spit of my mother’s kitchen, and I 
am sorry that I did not tell my cook to 


THE BRIDE OE THE 3ASTILE. 


9 


bring it that 1 might hold it against 
yours.” 

Your mother is a worthy woman, 
and her kitchen a good one ; I have 
heard both spoken of with the greatest 
praise, M. le chevalier,” replied the cap- 
tain in a tone almost paternal. So I 
am sorry that you left them for a misery 
like that which has procured me the 
honor of crossing steel with you. Sup- 
pose you take a lesson with your fencing 
master.” 

The recommendation was useless ; 
Ravanne was exasperated by his antag- 
onist’s tranquility which notwithstanding 
his courage his young blood had no hope 
of attaining. So he rushed upon the 
captain with such fury that the swords 
were engaged nearly at the hilt. The 
captain made a step backward. 

Ah ! you retire, sir,” cried Ravanne. 

‘‘Retiring is not flying, my little 
Chevalier,” replied the captain ; “ that 
is an axiom of the art which I invite 
you to think upon. Besides I broke 
off only to study your play. Ah ! you 
are a pupil of Berthelot, it appears to 
me. He is a good master, but he has 
one great fault ; that is in not teaching 
the parry. Stay, see a little,” continu- 
ed he, replying by a straight thrust to a 
second blow, “ a little stronger, and. I 
would spit you like a lark.” 

Ravanne was furious, for he indeed 
felt upon his side the point of his . op- 
ponent’s sword, but so slightly that he 
might have taken it for the button of a 
foil. So his anger redoubled at the con- 
viction that he-owed him his life, and his 
attacks multiplied more pressing than 
before. 

“ Come, come,” said the captain, 
have you lost your senses and do you 
seek to blind me 1 Fie ! young man, 
fie ! to the breast, morbleu ! Ah ! you 
try to disarm me, again ? Go pick up 
your sword, young man, and return 
slowly, that will calm you.” And with 
a twist of the wrist he detached the 
weapon from Ravanne’s grasp and sent 
it twenty paces from him. 

This time, Ravanne profited by the 
advice ; he went slowly to pick up his 
sword, and returned to the captain, who 
waited him, with the point of his sword 
resting on his boot. Only the young 


man was as pale as his satin vest, upon 
which appeared a drop of blood. 

“ You are right, sir,” said he, “ 1 am 
still a child ; but my encounter will aid, 
I hope, in making me a man. Some 
more passes, if you please, that it may 
not be said you have all the honors.” 
And he fell upon guard. 

The captain w'as right in saying to the 
chevalier that coolness under arms made 
a man more redoubtable. So, at this 
third attack, the chevalier brought all 
his attention to bear upon his defence ; 
but the captain had in his art too gr,eat a 
superiority over his young adversary 
for the latter to have an advantage over 
him. Events terminated as it was easy 
to foresee ; the captain, a second time, 
made the sword leap from Ravanne’s 
hand, but this time he picked it up 
himself, and with a politeness one ivould 
not at first sight have expected of him. 

“ M. le chevalier,” said he returning 
it, “ you are a brave young man, but 
believe an old frequenter of taverns, 
who before you w'ere" born fought in the 
wars of Flanders, when you were in the 
cradle, those of Italy, and when you 
were a page, those of Spain, change 
your master; leave Berthelot who has 
taught you all he knows ; take Bois 
Robert, and may the devil carry me 
off! if in six months you cannoc meet 
me myself.” 

“Thanks for the lesson, sir,” said 
Ravanne, extending his hand to the cap- 
tain, w^hile two tears, which he could not 
restrain, rolled down his cheeks ; “ I 
shall profit by it, 1 hope.” And receiv- 
ing his sword from the captain’s hands, 
he did that which the other had already 
done, he placed it in its sheath. 

The two then carried their eyes to 
their companions to see how stood af- 
fairs. The combat was finished. 
Lafare was seated upon the grass, his 
back leaning against a tree : he had re- 
ceived a sword-thrust wdiich traversed 
his chest, but fortunately the point of 
the steel had glanced oii one side along 
the bone, so that the wound appeared at 
first sight more serious than in reality 
it was ; he had swooned. D’Harmen- 
tal, on his knees before him, spunged up 
the blood with his handkerchief. 

Fargy and Valef had both received 


10 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


underhanded thrusts : one had his thigh 
run through, the other his arm laid open. 
Both were making excuses and promises 
to be the best friends in future. 

“ Stay, young man,” said the captain 
to Ravanne, pointing to the different 
episodes of the field of battle, “ look 
upon that and meditate ; see the blood 
of three brave gentlemen running prob- 
ably for a folly.” 

“ Ma foi !” replied Ravanne becoming 
calm, “ I think you are the only one ot 
us all who has common sense.” 

At this moment, Lafare opened his 
eyes, and recognised d’Harmental as the 
man who was aiding him. 

“ Chevalier,” said he, “ will you take 
the counsel of a friend? Send me a 
sort of surgeon whom you will find in 
the coach, and whom I brought at all 
chance : then gain Paris quicklj^, go to 
the Opera Ball this evening, and if any 
one asks news of me, say that it is eight 
days since you saw me. As for my- 
self, you can be perfectly at ease, your 
name shall not come from my mouth. 
If some bad discussion arise between you 
and the marshals, let me know as soon 
as possible, and we shall arrange it in a 
manner as if it had not occurred.'^ 

“ Thanks, M. le Marquis,” responded 
d’Harmental ; “1 do not leave you till 
you are in better hands than mine; 
otherwise, believe mo;; nothing shall se- 
parate, us until I shall see you in bed.” 

“ Good journey, my dear Valef,” 
said Fargy, “for I do not think that 
scratch will keep you from going this 
day. On your return, do not forget 
that you have a friend, number 14, 
place Louis le Grand.” 

“And you, my dear Fargy, if you 
have any commission for Madrid, you 
have but to say it, and it shall be done 
with the zeal and exactitude of a good 
comrade.” . 

And the two friends shook hands, as 
if nothing had really happened. 

“ Farewell, young man,” said the cap- 
tain to Ravanne. “ Do not forget the 
advice I gave you ; leave this Berthe- 
lot and take Bois Robert ; above all, 
be cool, retire at the occasion, parry in 
time, and you will be one of the best 
swordsmen of the kingdom of France. 


My colichemard says many agreeable 
things to your mother’s spit.” 

Ravanne, though he had not lost his 
presence of mind, found nothing to re- 
ply to the captain ; he was content to 
salute him, and approached Lafare, who 
was the worst wounded. 

As for d’Harmentel, Valef and the 
captain, they gained the alley, where 
they found the hackney coach, and in 
the coach the surgeon sleeping. D’Har- 
mental awoke him and announced to 
him, as he denoted the road he was i 9 
follow, that the Marquis Lafare, and 
Count Fargy had need of his services. 
He ordered, besides, his valet to dis- 
mount and follow the surgeon, that he 
might render aid ; then turning to the 
captain : 

“ Captain,” said he, “ I think that it 
will not be prudent to eat the breakfast 
which we have ordered ; receive then 
my thanks for the sword you have lent 
us, and, in remembrance of me, as you 
are on foot, will you accept one of my 
two horses. You can take either — they 
are both good beasts ; the worst of the 
two will not leave you in a dilemma in 
which you have need of a steed which 
can make eight or ten leagues an hour.” 

“ My faith, Chevalier,” responded the 
captain, throwing a glance upon the 
horse which was so generously offered ; 

“ between gentlemen blood and the 
purse are ever ready. But you do 
things with such a grace that 1 cannot 
refuse. If you ever have need of me 
for anything of this sort, do not forget, 

I beg you, that I am at your service.” 

“ The case occurring, sir, where shall 
I find you?” smilingly inquired d’Har- 
mental. 

“ I have no fixed resort, chevalier, 
but you will always have news of me 
with Fillon, ask of the Norman, and 
you will be informed of Captain Ro- 
quefinette.” 

And as the two young men had 
mounted their horses, the captain did 
likewise, not without inwardly remark- 
ing that the Chevalier d’Harmental had 
left to him the finest of the three. 

Then, as they were near a place 
where streets crossed each other, each 
one took his course and went off at 
a gallop. 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


11 


The Baron de Valef re-entered by the 
barrier de*Passy and went straight to the 
Arsenal, took the commi*ssions of the 
Duchess de Maine, at the house of 
whom he was stopping, and departed 
the same day for Spain. 

Captain Roquefinette made two or 
three turns at the pace, trot, and gallop 
in the Bois de Boulogne, to appreciate 
the different qualities of his steed, and 
having been convinced that he was, as 
the chevalier had said, a good and fine 
animal, he returned well satisfied to 
master Durand’s hotel, where he ate 
alone the breakfast ordered for three. 

The same day he led his horse to the 
horse-market and sold him for sixty 
louis. This sum was but half the val- 
ue : but he knew when to make sacri- 
fices when money was promptly realised. 

As for the Chevalier d’Harmental, 
he entered the alley of the Muette, re- 
gained Paris by the grand avenue of the 
Champ Elysees, and found on entering 
his house, rue de Richelieu, two letters 
awaiting him. 

One of these two was in a hand- 
writing so well known to him that he 
trembled when he regarded it, and which, 
after carrying his hand to it with the 
same hesitation as he would have touch- 
ed a live coal, he opened it with a shud- 
der which revealed the importance he 
attached to it, it contained the follow- 
ing : 

My Dear Chevalier, 

One is not master of his heart, you 
know, and it is one of the miseries of 
our nature that we cannot for a long 
time love the same person or the same 
thing. As for myself, I wish at least to 
have above other women the merit of 
not deceiving him who is my lover. Do 
not come at the accustomed hour, tor 
they will tell you I am not at home, 
and I am so good that I would not risk 
the soul of a valet or a servant in mak- 
ing them tell a lie. 

Farewell, my dear chevalier ; do not 
retain of me too bad a remembrance, 
and believe that 1 will ever think of you 
what I think at this hour, that is, that 
you are one of the most gallant gentle- 
men of France. 

Sophie d’Avernb.” 


Mordieu !” cried d’Harmental, shiv 
ering a charming table of Boule to frag- 
ments with a blow of his fist, “ if I had 
killed that poor Lafiirge, I should never 
have been consoled in my life.” 

After this explosion, , which soothed 
him a little, the chevalier began walking 
from the door to the window with an air 
which proved that he had still need of 
some more deceptions of this kind to be 
at the height of the philosophical mind 
which preaches that everything is un- 
faithful. Then, after two or three turns, 
he perceived on the ground, the second 
letter, which he had entirely forgotten. 
Twice or thrice again he passed and re- 
passed looking upon it with complete 
indifference; at last, as he thought it 
might divert him from the first, he dis- 
dainfully picked it up, opened it slowly, 
glanced at the penmanship which was 
unknown to him, sought for the signa- 
ture which was absent, and, receiving by 
that mystery some curiosity, he read as 
follows : 

Chevalier : 

If you have in your mind the quar- 
ter of the romance and in your heart the 
half of the courage which your friends 
pretend of you, there is offered to you 
an enterprize worthy of you, and the re- 
sult of which will at once give you ven- 
geance upon the man you most detest 
in the world and will conduct you to an 
end so brilliant that, in your most fan- 
tastic dreams, you hoped not of its like. 
The good genie who is to take you by 
this enchanted road, and in whom you 
must entirely confide, will wait for you 
this evening, from midnight to two 
o’clock, at the Opera Ball. If you 
come unmasked, she will go to you ; if 
you are masked, she will be recognized 
by a violet ribbon on her left shoulder. 
The password is : ‘ Open Sesame !’ Pro- 
nounce it boldly, and you shall see open 
a cavern more WT>nderful than that of 
Ali Baba.” 

“ At a good time !” said d’Harmen- 
tal ; “and if the genie of the violet rib- 
bon only redeems half her promise, 
i’faith ! she has found her man.” 


12 


TME ORANOE PLUME; OR, 


CHAPTER III. 

THE CHEVALIER d’hARMENTAL. 

The Chevalier Raoul d’Harmental, 
with whom, before proceeding further, 
it is necessary our readers should make 
ample acquaintance, w^as an only scion 
of one of the best families of theNiver* 
nais. Though this family had never 
played an important part in history, 
there were certain illustiious marks it 
had acquired, either by itself or its al- 
liances. The chevalier’s father, Gaston 
d’Harniental, had came in 1682, to 
Paris, and entered his proofs of 1899, 
an heraldic operation which might have 
entitled him to rank as a duke and peer. 
On the other side, his maternal uncle, 
M. de Torignjq having been appointed 
chevalier of the order of the promotion 
of 1694, had avowed, in making knowm 
his descent, that the best portion of his 
blood was made of the d’Harmentals, 
with whom his ancestors had allied for 
three hundred years. This was enough 
to satisfy the aristocratic exigencies of 
the epoch of which we write. 

The chevalier was neither rich nor 
poor, that is to say his father in dying 
had left him grounds situated within the 
environs of Nevers, which brought Him 
in something like twenty-five or thirty 
thousand livres of rent. This was 
^enough to live grandly in the provinces, 
but the chevalier had received an excel- 
lent education, and he felt a high ambi- 
tion in his heart; he iiad then, at his 
majority, that is 1711, quitted his pro- 
vince and gone to Paris. 

His first visit had been to the Count 
de Torigny, upon whom he strongly de- 
pended to place him in the court. Un- 
fortunately, at this time, the Count de 
Torigny was not there himself. But as 
he alw^ays received with the greatest 
pleasure, as we have said, the d’Harmen- 
tal family, ho recommended his nephew 
to the Chevalier de Villarceaux, and the 
Chevalier de Villarceaux, who could not 
refuse anything to his friend the Count 
• de Torigny, conducted the young man 
to the mansion of Madam de Maintenon. 

Madam de Maintenon had one quality 
— that was of ever remaining the friend 
■of her former lovers. She welcomed 


the Chevalier d’Harmental, thanks to the 
old remembrances he recalled, and some 
days after, the Marshal de Villars having 
spoken of the court, she said some words 
so pressing in favor of the young man, 
that the marshal, enchanted at finding 
an occasion to be agreeable to this queen 
in partibus, replied that from that hour 
he attached the Chevalier d’Harmental to 
his military household, and eagerly off- 
ered all the occasions to justify the good 
opinion that his august protector would 
have of him. 

It was great joy for the chevalier to 
see such a door open to him. The cam- 
paign which had taken place was def- 
inite. 

Louis XIV. had arrived at the latter 
period of his reign, at the epoch of his 
reverses. Tallard and Marsin had been 
beaten at Hochstett, Vill^roi at Ramil- 
lies, and Villars, himself, the hero of 
Friedlingen, had lost the famous battle 
of Malplaquet, against Marlborough and 
Eugene. Europe, an instant pressed un- 
der the hand of Colbert and Louvois, re- 
acted entirely against France. The sit- 
uation of affairs was perilous : the king, 
like a despairing sick man, who each 
hour changes his physician, changed his 
ministers each day. But each new at- 
tempt revealed some new incapacity, 
France could not sustain the war, and 
would not agree to make peace. Vainly 
she offered to abandon Spain and to lim- 
it her frontiers ; that was not humilia- 
tion enough. They required that the 
king should give passage to armed ene- 
mies to chase the grandson of Charles II., 
and to deliver up as surety, Cambrai, 
Metz, La Rochelle, and Bayonne, from 
which in a year they could have de- 
throned the monarch with open force. 
On these conditions was a truce accord- 
ed to the vanquisher of the Dunes, of 
Senef, of Fleurus, of Steinkerque and of 
the Marsaille ; he who, till then, had 
held in the fold of his royal mantle, 
peace and war ; he who had beim enti- 
tled the distributor of crowns, the cor- 
rector of nations, the great, the immor- 
tal ; he, in fine for whom, for half a cen- 
tury, they had sculptured marble,* cast 
bronze, and sung praises. 

Louis XIV. had wept in the council. 

These tears had produced an army. 


THE BRIDE OF THE IBASTILE. 


13 


and that army had been given to Vil- 
lars. 

Villars marched straight to the ene- 
my, whose camp was at Denain, and 
who, their eyes fixed upon the agony of 
France, slumbered in their security. 
Never had so great a responsibility been 
charged upon one head. Upon a throw 
of the die, Villars played the safety of 
France. 

The allies had thrown up, between 
Denain and Marchiennes, a line of fortifi- 
cations which, in their anticipating pride, 
Albemarle and Eugene called the great 
road to Paris. Villars resolved to take 
Denain by surprise, and, Albemarle 
beaten, to beat Eugene. 

For such an audacious enterprise to 
succeed, he must deceive not only the 
enemies’ army, but the French army, 
and victory was within impossibility it- 
self. 

Villars loudly proclaimed his inten- 
tion of forcing the lines of Landrecies. 
One night, at an hour agreed, all his 
army marched in the direction of that 
city. Suddenly, the order is given to 
oblique to the left ; the engineer threw 
three bridges over the Escant : Villars 
crossed the stream without obstruction, 
threw himself into the marshes believed 
impracticable, where the soldier advan- 
ced through the water waist-deep; he 
marched directly upon the first redoubts, 
and carried them almost without a blow ; 
seized successively a league of fortifica- 
tions, reached Denain, crossed the ditch 
surrounding it, penetrated into the city, 
and, on arriving upon the* square, found 
the Chevalier d’Harmental there, who 
presented to him the sword of Albe- 
marle, whom he had made prisoner. 

At this moment, Eugene’s arrival 
was announced. Villars turned, attain- 
ed before him, the bridge over which the 
latter must pass, seized it and waited. 
Here, the true action occurred, for the 
taking of Denain was but a skirmish. 
Eugene made attack upon attack, saw 
seven times at the head of the bridge 
his men fall under the ariillery, and 
against the bayonets which held it : at 
last, with his clothing riddled with balls, 
all bloody with two wounds, mounted 
upon his third horse, the vanquishfO’ of 
Hochstett and Malplaquet retired weep- 


ing with rage and gnawing his gloves 
with anger. In six hours the face of af- 
fairs was changed : France is saved, and 
Louis XIV. is still the great king. 

D’llarmental had conducted himself 
like a man who, with a blow, would 
win his spurs. Villars, seeing him cov- 
ered with blood and powder, recollected 
by whom he had been recommended, 
and called him to approach him, as in 
the middle of the field of battle he 
wrote upon a drum- head the return of 
the day. On seeing d’Harmental, Vii- 
lars interrupted his letter. 

Are you wounded inquired he. 

Yes, M. le Marshal ; but so slightly, 
that it pains me to speak of it.” 

Do you feel yourself strong enough 
to ride sixty leagues without resting an 
hour, a minute, a second 

“ I am capable of all t'lat, M. le Mar- 
shal, to serve the king and you.” 

‘‘Then go this instant, dismount at 
Madame de Maintenon’s, tell her from 
me what you have seen, and announce 
the courier who will bring the official 
report. If she conduct you to the King 
go.” 

D’Harmental comprehended the im- 
portance of the mission he was charged 
with, and all blackened and bloody, 
without hesitating, he leaped upon a 
fresh horse and reached the first poste ; 
two hours more and he was at Ver- 
sailles. 

Villars had foreseen what would hap- 
pen. At the first words from the chev- 
alier’s mouth, Madame de Maintenon 
took him by the hand and led him to the 
King. The King labored with Voisin 
in his chambers, contrary to his habit, 
for he was a little sick. Madame de 
Maintenon opened the door, pushed the 
Chevalier d’Harmetnal to the feet of ' 
the king, and raising her two hands to 
the sky : 

“ Sire,” said she, “ thank God ; for, 
your Majesty knows, we are nothing by 
ourselves, and that it is to God we owe 
all praise.” 

“ What is it, sir? Speak !” said Louis 
XIV. quickly, astonished to see at his 
feet a young man whom he did not 
know. 

“ Sire,” replied the chevalier, “ the 
camp at Denain is taken. The Count 


14 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


of Albemarle is prisoner, Prince Eugene 
is flying, marshal Villars places his vic- 
tory at your Majesty’s feet.” 

Notwithstanding the command he had 
over himself, Louis became pale ; he 
felt his limbs fail him, and he leaned 
upon the table to prevent his falling 
back in his chair. 

‘‘ What have you, sire ?” cried Mad- 
am deMaintenon, going to him. 

“ I have, madam, all I wish,” replied 
Louis XIV. : “ you save the king and 
' your friends save the kingdom.” 

Madam de Maintenon bowed and re- 
spectfully kissed the king’s hand. 

Then Louis, still pale and moved, 
passed behind the curtain which seper- 
ated his bed from the room, and they 
heard him fervently praying in a low 
tone ; then, at the end of an instant, he 
reappeared calm an^ grave as if nothing 
had happened. 

And now, sir, recount to me the 
event with all the details.” 

Then d’Harmental gave a recital of 
this marvellous battle, w^hich came like 
a miracle to save the monarchy. Then, 
when he had ended : 

*‘And of yourself, sir,” said Louis 
XIV. , “ you have said nothing. If I 
can judge from the dust and blood 
which are still upon your clothing, you 
were not in the rear.” 

‘‘ Sire, I did my best,” said d’Harmen- 
tal, bowing : but, if there is really 
anything to be said of me, 1 leave it, 
with your Majesty’s permission to the 
care of Marshal de Villars.” 

“ That is well, young man, and if he 
by chance forgets it, we shall not. You 
are fatigued, go and repose, I am content 
wdth you.” 

D’llarrnental retired all joyous. Ma- 
dame de Maintenon led him to the door. 
D’llarmental kissed her hand and has- 
tened to avail himself of the royal per- 
mission ; he had for twenty -four hours 
neither drank, eaten nor slept. 

On his arising he found a packet sent 
to him by the Minister of War. It was 
his colonel’s commission. 

Two months afterwards, peace w^as 
made. Spain lost half of its monarchy, 
but France remained intact. 

Three years after, Louis XIV. died. 

Two distinct and irreconcilable parties 


were in existence at the moment of his 
death : t hac of the bastards, headed by 
the Duke du Maine, and that of the le- 
gitimate princes, represented by the 
.Duke of Orleans. 

If the Duke du Maine had had the 
persistence, the will, the courage of his 
wife, Louise Benedicte Conde, he per- 
haps, appointed as he was by the royal 
testament, would have triumphed ; but 
he failed to defend on the day of attack 
and in one day, and almost without ac- 
tion, he was bereft of the gift bestowed 
by the king in his blind love. The fall 
was heavy and above all shameful ; he 
retired mutilated, abandoning the regen 
cy to his rival, preserving of all the fa- 
vors accumulated upon him but the su- 
perintendence of the royal education, 
the commandant of artillery, and his 
rank as a duke and a peer. 

The decree of the parliament struck 
the old court and all attached to it. 
Letellier went to his exile, Madame de 
Maintenon took refuge in St. Cyr, and 
the Duke du Maine shut himself up in 
the villa of Sceaux to continue his trans- 
lation of Lucretia. 

The Chevalier d’Harmenfal had been 
an interested spectator, it is true, but a 
passive spectator, to all these intrigues, 
waiting till they had taken a character 
which would permit him to take a part : 
if it had been a free and armed struggle 
he would have joined the side where 
gratitude called him. Too young and 
too innocent yet in politi 9 al matters, to 
turn with the wind of fortune, he remain- 
ed respectful to the memory of the old 
king and the ruins of the oid court. 

His absence from the Palais Royal, 
to which at that hour flocked all who 
take a place in the political heaven, was 
interpreted as an opposition, and, one 
morning, as he had received the commis- 
sion which granted him a regiment, he 
received the decree stopping it. 

D’Harmental had the ambition of his 
age ; the only career open to gentlemen 
of that period was the career of arms ; 
his outset had been brilliant, and the 
blow which broke at twenty-five all his 
future hopes caused him deep sorrow. 
He ran to M. de Villars, in whom he 
had always found a protector. The 
Marshal received him with the coolness 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


15 


of a man who wished not only to forget 
the past but to see the past forgotten . 
So ^ Harmental comprehended that the 
old courtier was intending to change 
his skin, and he discreetly retired. 

Though his age was essentially one 
of egotism, this was the first check 
which had been felt by the Chevalier; 
but he w'as in that happy period of life 
where it is rare that the griefs of dis- 
appointed ambition are deep and dura- 
ble : ambition is not the passion of 
those who have not others, and the 
Chevalier had still all those one has at 
twenty -five. 

Besides, the spirit of the times had 
not turned upon melancholy. That is a 
sentiment all modern, born of the 
wreck of fortunes, and the impotency 
of man. In the eighteenth century it 
was rare that one dreamed of abstract 
things and that one aspired to the un- 
known : one went to pleasure, glory or 
fortune, and provided one was handsome, 
brave or intriguing, everybody could 
arrive there. This was still the epoch 
when happiness did not humiliate a 
man. To-day, the mind domineers too 
high above matter for one to dare to 
avow that he is happy. 

It must be avowed the wind swelled 
with joy, and France seemed to sail, 
all canvas spread, in the search of some 
one of those enchanted isles laid down 
upon the gilded chart of the Thousand 
and One Nights. After the long and 
sad winter of the reign of Louis the 
Fourteenth, appeared all at once the 
joyful and brilliant spring time of a 
young monarchy : each one basked in 
this new radiant and magnificent sun, 
and went buzzing carelessly, like the 
bees and butterflies in the first days of 
the season. Pleasure, absent and pro- 
scribed for more than thirty years, had 
returned : they welcomed it as a friend 
whom they had thought no more to see ; 
they ran to it from all sides, with open 
hands and open heart, and, from fear 
doubtless that it would again escape 
them, all hastened to revel every in- 
stant. The Chevalier d’Harmental had 
kept his sadness eight days; then he 
was mingled with the crowd, then he was 
caught by a whirlwind, and this whirl- 


wind had cast him at the feet of a pret- 
ty woman. 

For three months be had been the 
most happy mortal in the world ; dur- 
ing three months he had forgotten Saint 
Cyr, the Tuileries, the Palais Royal; 
he knew no more a Madame de Main- 
tenon, a King, a Regent : he knew that 
it was good to live when one is loved, 
and could not see why he should not 
live and love forever. 

He was still in his dream when, as 
we have said, supping with his friend, 
the Baron de Valef in an honorable 
house of the rue Saint Honore, he had 
been rudely awoke by Lafare. Lovers 
are when awake bad, and one may see, 
that in this respect, d’Harmental was 
not more enduring than others. It was 
besides somewhat more pardonable in 
the Chevalier, for he believed he truly 
loved, and that, in his youthfal good 
faith, he thought that nothing could 
take the place in his heart of this love : 
it was also a provincial prejudice he had 
brought from Nevers. So, as we have 
said, the letter, so strange but at least 
so frank, of Madam d’Xverne, instead 
of inspiring the admiration which it 
merited in that foolish epoch, had at 
first been grievous. It is the property 
of each love when passed to awaken 
all the former sorrows, which one be- 
lieved had disappeared and which only 
slumbered. The soul has its scars like 
the body, and they never close so com- 
pletely but that a new wound can re- 
open them. D’Harmental was again 
ambitious, the fate of bis mistress had 
recalled to him the fate of his regiment. 

So he made nothing more of the sec- 
ond letter, so mysterious and unexpect- 
ed, but as a means of diverting his sad- 
ness. A lover of these days would 
have thrown it scornfully from him, and 
would have taken upon himself, for 
eigiit days at least, a pale and poetical 
melancholy : but lovers of the regency 
were more pliable. Suicide was not 
then discovered, and one swam if adven- 
ture threw him into the water until he 
found within his reach, the smallest 
straw to uphold him. 

D’Harmental did not affect the fop- 
pery of sadness : he decided, sighing it 


16 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


is true, to go to the Opera Ball ; and 
for a lover betrayed in a manner so cru- 
el and unforseen, that was already a 
good deal. 

But, it must be said to the shame of 
onr poor species, that which carried hirti 
to this philosophical determination, was 
that the second letter, that which prom- 
ised such wonders, was in the female 
hand. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE BALL AT THE OPERA. 

The Opera Balls were then at their 
height. They were an invention con- 
temporaneous with the Chevalier de 
Bouillon, who gained nothing for the 
service which he rendered to the dissi- 
pated society of the times but the being 
pardoned for the title of Prince of Au- 
vergne, which he had assumed no one 
knew why. It was he who had invent- 
ed that double floor which places the 
pit on the level with the stage, and the 
Regent, justly appreciating all fine in- 
ventions had granted him a pension of 
six thousand livres. This was four 
times w'hat the great King had given to 
Corneille. 

This fine hall, of architecture rich and 
deep, where Cardinal Richilieu had in- 
augurated his Mirame, where the pasto- 
rals of Lulli and Quinault had been rep- 
resented, and where Moliere had himself 
performed his principal characters, was 
on this evening the rendezvous of all the 
court had of the rich, the noble and the 
elegant. 

D’Harmental, by a sentiment of spite 
natural in his situation, had given great- 
er care than usual to his toilette. 
When he arrived the hall was full. He 
feared that the mask with the violet rib- 
bons might not join him,as the unknown 
genie had the negligence not to assign 
place of meeting. He felicitated liim- 
self then on having come with uncovered 
face, a resolution which announced on his 
part great dependence upon the discre- 
tion of his adversaries, at a word from 
whom he might be sent before the par- 
liament or at least to the Bastile ; but 


such was the confidence that gentlemen 
had reciprocally at that period in their 
loyalty, that alter having run his sword 
through the body of one of the Regent’s 
favorites, the Chevalier came, without 
the least hesitation, to seek an adventure 
at the Palais Royal. 

The first person whom he perceived 
was the young Duke de Richelieu, 
whose name, adventures, elegance, and 
perhaps his indiscretion, commenced to 
be very fashionable. Every one said 
that two princesses of the blood dispju- 
ted for his love, that Madam de. Nesle 
and Madame de Polignac almost fought 
for him with Madam de Sabran and 
Madam Villars, Madam Mouchy and 
Madam de Tencin shared of his heart. 

He came to meet the Marquis of 
Canillac, one of the Regent’s friends, 
whom, from the rigid appearance which 
he affected. His Highness called his 
Mentor. Richelieu commenced to re- 
count to Canillac a history in a high 
tone mingled with laughter. The Chev- 
alier knew the Duke, but not enough 
to enter into a conversation ; besides it 
was not him he sought for ; so he es- 
sayed to pass him, when the Duke stop- 
ped him by the skirt of his coat. 

‘‘ My dear Chevalier,” said he, “ I am 
telling to Canillac a good adventure 
which may serve him, as the nocturnal 
lieutenant of the Regent, and you, as 
exposed to the same danger as I ran. 
The history dates from to-da}' ; that is 
a merit the more as I have not had time 
yet to inform more than twenty persons, 
so that it is scarcely known. Spread 
the new^s, you will please both the Re- 
gent and myself.” 

D’Harmental frowned, Richelieu’s 
appeal was out of place ; at this mo- 
ment the Chevalier de Ravanne passed 
pursuing a female mask. 

“ Ravanne !” cried Richelieu, “ Ra- 
vanne !” 

‘‘ 1 have no time,” replied the cheva- 
lier. 

‘‘ Do you know where Lafare is 

“ He Lis a headache.” 

And Fargy ?” 

“ He has a sprain.” 

And Ra\anne disappeared in the 
throng, after having exchanged with his 
adversary of the morning a most amica- 
ble salute. 


THE BRIDE OE THE BASTILE. 


n 


“ Well ! and thic history ?” in(j[ir‘»'ed 
Can iliac. 

‘‘ Here it is. Imagine that, after my 
leaving the Bastile, where I had been- 
sent for my duel with Gace, two or 
three days perhaps had passed since my 
reappearance in the world, Rafe handed 
me a charming little note from Madam 
Parabere, in which I was invited to pass 
the evening with her. You understand, 
Chevalier, that it is not at the moment 
when one quits the Bastile that he 
scorns a meeting with the mistress of 
the one ‘who holds the keys. So at the 
exact hour, I was there. Guess who 
was seated by her side upon the sofa ? 
I would give you a hundred !” 

“ Her husband 1” said Canillac. 

Not so : His Royal Highness him- 
self. I was more astonished than if the 
lady had been alone.' Nevertheless, I took 
a composed vair, modest, an air like your 
own,, Canillac, and bowed to the Mar- 
chioness with an appearance of such 
profound respect, that the Regent burst 
into laughter. As I had not expected 
this explosion, I was a little disconcert- 
ed., I took a chair to seat myself, but 
the Regent made me a sign, to take a 
place upon the sofa by the side of the 
Marchioness : I obeyed. 

“ ‘ My dear Duke,’ said he, ‘ we have 
written to you for a serious affair. Here 
is the poor Marchioness who, though se- 
parated for two years from her husband, 
finds herself enceinte' 

‘‘ The IMarchioness attempted to 
blush ; but feeling she could not suc- 
ceed, she hid her face with her fan. 

^ At the first word which she said to 
me of her situation,’ continued the Re- 
gent, 1 went to Argenson, and asked 
him whose child it could be.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! spare me, sir,’ said the Mar- 
chioness. 

‘ It will soon be f.nished,” returned 
the Regent, have a little patience. 
Do you know what Argenson replied, 
my dear Duke?’ 

“ ‘ No,’ said I, much embarrassed. 

^ He replied that it was mine or 
yours.’ 

‘ It is an atrocious calumny,’ cried I. 

‘‘ ‘ Do not say so, Duke, the Mar- 
chioness has avowed all.’ 

‘‘ ^ Then,’ returned I, ‘ if the Mar- 


chioness has avowed all, I do not see 
what remains for you to tell me.’ 

“ * So,’ continued the Regent, ‘ I only 
ask for the necessary particulars more 
in detail, that, as accomplices in the 
same crime, we can arrange the affair, 
one and the other.’ 

‘ And what have you to fear, my 
Lord f inquired I. ‘As for myself, I 
know that, protected by your Highness’ 
name, I can brave all.’ 

“ ‘ What have we to fear, my dear 
friend ? The clamoring of Parabere, 
who wishes to be made a Duke.’ 

“ ‘ Well ! but make him father it,’ re- 
plied I. 

“ ‘ Justly,’ cried the Regent, ‘ you 
have the same idea as the Marchioness.’ 

“ ‘Madam,’ replied I,,‘ it is an honor 
for me.’ 

“ ‘ But the difficulty,’ objected Madam 
Parabere, ‘it is more than two years 
since 1 have even spoken to the Mar- 
quis, and that when he was jealous and 
severe ! he swore that if ever he found 
me in this position, a trial would avenge 
him.’ 

‘You understand, Richelieu, that 
would be troublesome,’ added the Re- 
gent. 

“ ‘ Peste ! so I think, my Lord.’ 

“ ‘ I have some coercive means in my 
hands, but none of these means can 
force a husband to receive his wife.’ 

•“‘Well,’ began I, ‘if you mfike him 
go to his wife?’ 

“ ‘ Stay, Madam le Marquise, without 
indiscretion, is not M. Parabere rather 
weak in respect to the wines of Cham- 
batin and the Romany ?” 

“ ‘1 fear it,’ replied the Marchioness. 

“ ‘ Then, my Lord, we are saved ! I 
will invite the Marquis to a little sup- 
per at my house, with a dozen hard 
drinkers and pretty women ! you can 
send Dubois ’ 

‘‘‘Without doubt; there must be 
some one who can preserve his senses. 
As Dubois cannot drink he can make 
the Marquis do so; and when all are 
under the table, he can separate him 
from the midst of us all, and carry him 
where you wish. The rest regards the 
Marchioness.’ 

“ ‘ Did I not tell you. Marquise,’ said 
the Regent, clapping his hands, ‘that 


I 


18 


THE CHANGE PLUME ; OB, 


Richelieu is of good counsel ? Sta}^ 
Duke,^ continued he, ‘ you must re- 
nounce rambling around certain palaces, 
leave the old one to die quietly at Saint 
Cyr, the cripple to make his verses at 
Sceaux, and rally with us. I will give 
you in my cabinet, the place of that old 
noddle, Uxelles, and things perhaps will 
go right liereaftej’ ’ 

“ ‘ Aye,’ replied I, ‘ but the tiling is 
impossible; I have other ideas.’ 

“‘Wrong-head,’ muttered the Re- 
gent. 

“And M. Parabere?” asked the chev- 
alier d’Harmental, curious to know the 
end of the history. 

“ M. Parabere, well ! but all passed 
as the the thing had been planned. He 
slept with me and awoke with his wife. 
You see he would have made a great 
noise but that w^ould have caused 
scandal : his carriage had came to the 
door in the night, and all the servants 
had seen him enter,so that we were easy, 
though somewijat impatient to know 
whom the child will resemble, M. Para- 
bere, the Regent, or myself. The Mar- 
chioness to night w^as relieved.” 

“And who does the child resemble?” 
demanded Canillac. 

“ No one,” replied Richelieu, laugh- 
ing. “Is not the history a good one? 
Alas ! what a misfortune it would be if 
the Marquis de Parabere should die be- 
fore the discovery ! How he wdll be 
revenged for the turn we have played 
him !” 

“ Chevalier,” said at this moment in 
d’Harmental’s ear, a sweet and harmo- 
nious voice, while a little hand touched 
his arm, “ when you have finished with 
M. Richelieu, 1 claim my turn.’' 

“ Excuse me, M. le I)uke,” said the 
chevalier, “ but you see that I am 
taken.” 

“ I will leave you free, but on one 
condition.” 

“What is that?” 

“ It is that you recount your history 
to that charming bat, who is charged to 
repeat it to the birds of the night.” 

“ I fear,” said d’Harmental, “ 1 have 
not time.’' 

“Oh! then, much better for you,” 
said the Duke re easing the chevalier, 
whom he had retained till then by his; 


garment, “for you will in that case 
have something better to say.” 

And he turned around to take the 
arm of a domino, who, in passing, came 
to pay him a compliment upon his ad- 
venture. 

The Chevalier d’Harmental threw a 
rapid glance upon the mask who had ac- 
costed him, to assure himself that it 
was the one who had appointed a meet- 
ing-place, and recognised upon its left 
shoulder the violet ribbon which was to 
serve as a token. He eagerly moved 
from Canillac and Richelieu, that he 
might not be interrupted in the conver- 
sation which, in all probability, would 
become of some interest to him. 

The unknown, the sound of whose voice 
betrayed her sex, w^as of middling stat- 
ure, and, as well as could be judged from 
the elasticity and suppleness of her 
movements, appeared to be a young 
woman. As for her form and all that 
an eye w^ould seek to discover in such a 
case, it was useless for an observer to 
occupy himself with, as little result was 
promised by the study. Indeed as had 
already been indicated by Richelieu, she 
had adopted of all the costume proper 
to hide either graces or defects : she 
was dressed as a bat, a costume strongly 
in vogue at that period, as it was as 
convenient as perfectly simple, com- 
posed merely of the union of two black 
petticoats : one arranged as usual around 
the waist ; one passed her head through 
the slit . of the pocket of the other so 
that it made two wings : the part be- 
hind formed two horns above the 
masked face, and one had thus the 
aliiKJSt certitude of puzzling her inter- 
locutor, who could not ♦ recognise her 
without some previous knowledge. 

The chevalier made all these remarks 
in less time than we can describe such a 
costume ; but not having the least idea 
with whom he had the interview ; and 
believing that he was on the eve of some 
intrigue, he hesitated to speak a word, 
w'hen, turning her head towards him ; 

“ Chevalier,” said the mask without 
taking the pains to disguise her voice, in 
the certitude doubtless that it was un- 
knowui, “ do you know that I doubly 
thank you for having come, especially in 
the situation in which you are? it is un- 


•* THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


19 


fortunate that I cannot in conscience at- 
tribute to another feeling than curiosity, 
your presence here.” 

‘‘ Fair mask,’’ returned d’Harmental, 
have you not said in yoiir letter that 
you are a good genie? But, if really 
you participate in a superior nature, the 
past, the present, and the future must be 
known to you ; you know why 1 came, 
and, since you know it, my coming does 
not astonish you.” 

^^Alas!” responded the unknown, 
one can see you are a weak mortal, 
and that you are as happy as one can be . 
who.never reaches our sphere! otherwise 
you perceive that if we know, as you say, 
the past, the present, and the future, that 
science is mute in what regards us, and 
it is the things we most desire that are 
plunged for us into the greatest obscu- 
rity.” 

^ The deuce !” replied d’Harmental, 
do you know, genie, that you will ren- 
der me vain if you continue in that 
tone? for, take care, you have said, or 
very nearly, that you have a great de- 
sire for me to come to your appoint- 
ment.” . 

“ I think you have nothing to be in- 
formed of, Chevalier, and it seems to me 
that my letter, under the wish I had to 
see you, left you no doubt.” 

^ That wish, which I did not admit be- 
cause you avow it, and as I am too gal- 
lant to disappoint you, did not promise 
to make it in that letter more than it is 
in your power to keep to ?” 

Make a proof of my science, it will 
give you the measure of my power.” 

Oh ! I will confine myself to the 
simplest thing: you know, say you, the 
past, the present and future ; tell me 
my fortune.” 

“ Nothing more easy : give me your 
hand.” 

“ D’Harmental did as required. 

^^Sir Chevalier,” said the unknown 
after an instant’s examination, “ I see 
visibly written, by the direction of the 
adductor and by the disposition of the 
fibres of the palm,, five words in which 
are enclosed all the history of your 
life ; these words are : courage, ambi- 
tion, disappointment, love and treach- 
ery.” 

Peste !’’ interrupted the chevalier 


I did not know that genie studied an- 
atomy so deeply and were obliged to 
take their sciences like a bachelor of 
Salamanca I” 

‘‘ The genii know all that men know, 
and other things too, Chevalier.” 

W ell I what would you say of 
these words, at once so high-sounding 
and so opposite, and what had they to 
do with me in the past, my very wise 
genie ?” 

‘‘ By your courage alone you had ac- 
quired the rank of colonel which you 
bore in the army of Flanders ; it was 
that grade which awoke your ambition ; 
it was that ambition which was followed 
by disappointment, and that you thought 
to solace disappointment by love ; but 
love, like fortune, is subject to treachery, 
you have been betrayed.” 

Not bad,” said the chevalier, “ and 
the Sybil of Cumea could not have 
spoken better. A little vague like all 
horoscopes ; but, besides, a great deal 
of truth. Pass on to the present, fair 
mask.” 

‘‘ The present ! Chevalier 1 speak low, 
for it feels terrible in the Basrtile 1” 

The chevalier shuddered despite him- 
self, for he believed that no one save 
the actors in it, could know of his morn- 
ing’s adventure. 

“ There are at this hour,” continued 
the unknown, two brave gentlemen 
lying sadly in their beds, while we are 
chatting gaily at the Ball ; and that, be- 
cause a certain Chevalier d’Harmental 
had not recalled a line of Yirgil.” 

And what is that line ?” inquired 
the chevalier, more and more astonished. 

‘‘ Facilis descensus Aoerni,^^ said the 
bat, laughing. 

‘‘ My dear genie,” cried the chevalier, 
plunging his glances into the openings 
of the unknown’s mask, “that is, permit 
me to say, a quotation a little mascu- 
line.” 

“ Do you not know that genii are of 
both sexes ?” 

“ Yes, but I never heard that they 
quoted the ^neid so fluently.” 

“Is not the quotation just? You 
spoke of the Curnean Sybil, I reply 
in her language ; you ask something po- 
sitive, I give it : but you mortals are 
never satisfied.” 


20 


THE ORANGE PLUME ^ OR, 4 


‘‘ No, for I avow that that science of 
the past and present inspires me with a 
terrible wish to know the future.’’ 

“There are two futures,” said the 
mask ; “there is the future of strong 
hearts. God gives man free will that 
he may choose. Your future depends 
upon yourself?” 

“ Must not he know the two futures 
that he may take the best ?” 

“Well! there is one which awaits 
you in the neighborhood of Nevers, in 
the centre of a province, among the 
rabbits of your warren and the chickens 
of your poultry-yard. That • conducts 
straight to the seat of the churchwarden 
of the parish. That is ap ambition very 
easily satisfied : you are upon the road 
to it.” 

“ And the other ?” replied the cheva- 
lier, visibly offended that any one could 
suppose such a future would ever be 
his. ' 

“ The other,” said tlie unknown, lean- 
ing her arm upon that of the young 
gentleman, and fix ng upon him her eyes 
through the eye-holes of her mask ; 
“ the Other throws you into the turmoil 
of life : the other makes you one of the 
actors in a scene which is played in the 
world ; the other, win it or lose it, 
leaves you at least the renown of a great 
actor.” 

“ If I lose, what do 1 lose 1” asked the 
chevalier. 

“ Life, probably.” 

The chevalier made a gesture of 
scorn. 

“ And if 1 gain ?” added he. 

“What say you to the rank of col- 
onel of horse, ;he title of grandee of 
Spain and the order of the Holy Ghost? 
all that, without including the baton of 
Marshal in perspective.” 

“ I say that the game is worth the 
risk, fair mask, and that if you give the 
proof that you will hold to your prom- 
ise, 1 am the man to take my part.” 

“ The proof,” responded the mask, 
“ must be given by another than me, 
Chevalier, and if you would acquire it, 
you must follow me.” 

“ Oh ! oh I” said d’Harmental, “ am 
I deceived and are you but a genie of 
the second order,’ or subordinate spirit, 
an intermediate power ? The deuce 1 


that alters my consideration for you.” 

“What matter, if I am subject to 
some great enchantress, and if she has 
sent me to you ?” 

“ I foresee that I have betrayed noth- 
ing to the ambasador.” 

“ So. I have a mission tottake you to 
her.” 

“Then I shall see her?” 

“ Face to face.” 

“ Go on, in that case.” 

“ Chevalier, you are quick to the task ! 
Do not forget that there are, before 
initiation, certain indispensable ceremo- 
nies to assure the discretion of the in- 
itiated.” 

“ What is there to do ?” 

“ Your eyes must be bandaged, you 
must allow yourself to be taken where 
we please ; then, on reaching the door 
of the temple, make the solemn oath 
that you will reveal nothing of the 
things which are said or the persons you 
shall see.” 

“ I am ready to swear by the Styx,” 
said Harmental laughing. 

“ No, Chevalier,” replied the mask in 
a serious tone : “ swear on your honor, 
you are known, that will suffice.” 

“ And that oath taken,” deijianded 
the chevalier after a moment of silent 
reflection, “ will I be permitted to retire 
if the things which shall be proposed to 
me are not those which a gentleman 
may accomplish ?” 

“ You have your conscience to decide, 
and we ask your word but as a gage.” 

“ 1 am ready,” said the chevalier. > 

“ Go then,” said the mask. 

The chevalier began to cross the 
crowd in a straight line to reach the 
door ; but having perceived Brancas, 
Broglie, and Simiane in his way, and as 
they would doubtless stop his passage, 
he turned and took a curved direction 
which would lead him to the same 
end.” 

“ Wlnit are you doing ?”^ asked the 
mask. 

“ 1 am avoiding the meeting some 
one who may retard us.” 

“ The better ! I began to fear.” 

“What did you fear?” inquired 
d’Harmental. 

“ 1 feared,” replied the mask laughing, 
“ that your eagerness diminished as the 


THE BRIDE OF THE BA.STILE. 


21 


diagonal does fiom the two sides of the 
square.’’ 

“ Parbleu !” said d’Harmental, this 
is the first time, 1 bcdieve, that one gave 
an appointment with a gentleman, at the 
Opera Ball, to speak to him of anatomy, 
ancient literature, and mathematics. I 
do wrong to say it, fair mask, but you 
are the most scholarly genie that I have 
known in my life.” 

The bat burst into laughter, but re- 
plied nothing to this sally, in which 
shone the spite of the chevalier in not 
being able to recognise a person who 
appeared so well informed upon his ad- 
ventures ; but as this spite but added to 
his curiosity, at the end of an instant, 
the two, having descended hastily, found 
themselves in the vestibule. 

What road are we to take ?” said 
the chevalier, ‘‘ do we go underground 
or in a car drawn by two griffins.” 

“If you wdll permit, Chevalier, we 
shall go in a coach. When all is done. 
I am a woman, and I tear the gloom.” 

“ Allow me, in that case, to lead you 
to my carriage,” said the chevalier. 

“No, 1 have mine, if you please,” re- 
sponded the mask. 

“ Call it then.” 

“ With your permission, Chevalier, 
we will not be more imperative than Ma- 
homet was at the mountain ; and as my 
coach cannot come to us, suppose we 
go to the coach.” 

With these words the bat hurried the 
chevalier into the rue de Saint Honore. 
A coach without arms, drawn by two 
dark-colored horses, stood at the corner 
of the little rue Pierre Lescot. The 
coachman was upon his seat, enveloped 
in a great coat which concealed the low- 
er portion of his figure, while a large 
three-cornered hat covered his brow 
and eyes. A footman with one hand 
held the door and with the other mask- 
ed his face with his handkerchief. 

“ Enter,” said the mask to the cheva- 
lier. 

D’Harmental hesitated an instant ; 
the two servants without liveries, who 
appeared as desirous as their mistress to 
preserve their incognito ; this vehicle 
without cipher or blazon, the obscure 
place where it was placed, the advanced 
hour , of the night, all inspired the chev- 


alier with a sentiment of very natural 
mistrust ; but soon, reflecting that he 
gave his arm. to a woman, and that he had 
a sword by his side, he boldly entered 
the coach. The bat seated herself by 
him, and the footman closed the door 
with a spring which he turned twice 
like a key. 

“Well! are we not going?” asked 
the chevalier, seeing that the vehicle re- 
mained motionless. 

“ There remains a little precaution to 
take,” replied the mask, drawing a silk- 
en handkerchief from her pocket. 

“ Oh, yes, that is true 1” said d’Har- 
mental, “ I had forgotten ; I give my- 
self to you in all confidence : do it.” 
And he advanced his head. ' 

The unknown bandaged his eyes, 
then the operation terminated : 

“ Chevalier,” said she, “ you give me 
your word that you will not take this 
bandage off before you have received 
permission?” 

“ I give it.” 

“ That is well.” 

Then, opening the front window: 

“ Where, you know, M. le Count,” 
said the unknown to the coachman. 

And the coach departed on a gallop. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE SECRET ASSEMBLAGE. 

As the conversation had been' anima- 
ted at the Ball, so the silence was abso- 
lute during the journey. This adventure 
which had at first sight all the appear 
ance of an amorous adventure, had soon 
revealed a more serious design, and 
pointed visibly to political machinations. 
If this new aspect did not frighten the 
chevalier, it at least gave him matter for 
reflection, and his reflections were the 
more deep as once before he had awoke 
and. found himself in a position similar 
to tliat in which prolxibly he would again 
find himself. 

There is in a man’s life an instant 
which decides all his hereafter. This 
moment, important as it is, is rarely 
prepared for by the calculation and di- 
rected by the will : it is almost always 


22 


THE OKANGE PLUME; OR, 


chance which takes man, as the wind 
takes a leaf, and throws him into some 
new and unknown path, where, once en- 
tered he is constrained to obey a supe- 
rior power, and where, though believing 
he is following his own free will, he is 
the slave to circumstances or the play- 
thing of events. 

It was thus with the chevalier; we 
have seen by which door he had entered 
Versailles, and how, in default of sym- 
pathy, interest and even acknowledge- 
ment had attached him to the side of 
the old court. D’Harmental, conse- 
quently, had not calculated the good or 
bad which had been done to France by 
Madam de Maintenon ; he had not dis- 
cussed the right or the power which 
Louis the Fourteenth had to legitimate 
his bastards ; he had not weighed in the 
genealogy the Duke du Maine or the 
Duke of Orleans ; he had instinctively 
comprehended that he must devote his 
life to those who had made him from 
obscurity glorious ; and when the old 
King was dead, when he had heard that 
the Duke du Maine should have the Re- 
gency, when he had seen his last wishes 
broken by parliament, he had regarded 
the Duke of Orleaiisas an usurper, and 
in the certitude of an armed reaction 
against the Regent’s power, he had 
searched all France with his eyes to see 
dilsplayed the flag under which his con- 
science would allow him to act. But 
to his great surprise, nothing of the 
kind occurred ; Spain, interested to see 
a willing friend at the head of the 
French .government had made no pro- 
test ; the Duke du Maine, fatigued with 
a struggle which endured but a day, had 
retired within the shade from whence it 
seemed he could not be taken but in 
spite of himself ; M. de Toulouse left 
no suspicion that he would ever be lead- 
er of a party ; Marshal V illeroy had 
made a weak opposition with neither 
plan nor calculation ; Villars evidently 
waited for some one to come to him ; 
d’Uxelles had accepted the Presidency 
of Foreign Affairs; the dukes and peers 
^ patiently waited and petted the Regent 
in the hopes that he would finish, as he 
had promised, by depriving the Dukes 
du Maine and de Toulouse of the rank 
Louis XIV. had given them ; there was 


a restless, discontented opposition to 
the Duke of Orleans, but it was vague, 
impalpable, invisible, disseminated. 
Thus it v^as that d’Harmental had re- 
turned to his sheath his half drawn 
sword. 

But, at twenty-six, imagination is a 
strange enchantress, it is the architect 
of aerial palaces, it is the fairy of gold- 
en dreams, it is the queen of boundless 
kingdoms, and as she rears the most 
gigantic fabrics, one sees them already 
realised as if they were cemented on 
the most solid rock. 

So, though the coach rolled on for 
nearly half an hour, the chevalier in 
thinking had not found the time long : 
he was even so deeply plunged in his 
reflections that it was useless precaution 
to bandage his eyes as he could not have 
known what streets he was passing. At 
last, he heard a rumbling sound as when 
a vehicle goes over a vault ; he heard 
the noise of a gate opening to give him 
entrance and closing behind him, and al- 
most instantly the coach, having describ- 
ed a circle, stopped. 

“ Chevalier,” said his guide, if you 
fear to proceed further, there is still 
time, and you can go back : if, on the 
contrary, you have not altered your re- 
solution, come.” 

For reply, d’Harmental held out his 
hand. The footman opened the door ; 
the unknown descended first, then she 
aided the chevalier to descend ; soon 
his feet encountered steps, he mounted 
six steps of a flight, and, with his eyes 
still bandaged and conducted by the 
masked lady, he crossed a vestibule, 
proceeded along a hall, and entered a 
chamber. Then he heard the coach rol- 
ling away. 

“We are arrived,” said the unknown, 
“ you recollect our conditions, Cheva- 
lier ? You are to accept or not to ac- 
cept a share in the piece to be perform- 
ed ; but, in case of refusal, you pro- 
mise upon your honor not to say one 
word of the persons you shall see, and 
the things you shall hear 1” 

“1 swear it upon honor !” replied the 
chevalier. 

“ Then, seat yourself ; wait in this 
cliamber, and do not remove the bandage 
till you hear two o’clock sound. Be 
easy, there is not long to wait.” 


THE BRIDE OF THE BA.ST1LK. 


23 


With these words, the chevalier’s con- 
ductor moved from him ; a door opened 
and closed. Almost instantly, two o’- 
clock rang, and the chevalier pulled off 
the handkerchief. 

He was alone in the most marvellous 
boudoir it was possible to imagine : it 
was a little eight-sided apartment, 
adorned with lilac silk and silver, with 
dbors of tapestry : the tables and etag- 
eres were of the most exquisite Buhl 
work, all loaded with magnificent 
Chinese ornaments : the floor was cov- 
ered with Persian carpet, and the ceiling 
painted by Watteau, who began thq^i to 
be the fashionable painter. At this 
sight, the chevalier was fain to believe 
that he had been brought for a serious 
thing, and fell instantly into his first 
ideas. 

At this moment, a door in the tapes- 
try opened, and d’Har mental saw a wo- 
man appear, who in the fantastical pre- 
occupation of his mind, he had taken 
for a fiiiry, her form was so light, deli- 
cate, and graceful ; she was arrayed in 
a charming robe of grey silk, all be- 
sprinkled with bouquets, so deliciously 
embroidered, that at three paces dis- 
tance, they would have been taken for 
natural flowers ; the ruffles, and top- 
knots were of English point lace ; the 
knots were in pearls, with clasps of dia- 
monds. 

As for the countenance, it was cover- 
ed with a half-mask of black velvet, 
from which hung a beard of the same 
color. 

D’Harmental bowed, for there was 
something royal in the step and bearing 
of this woman, from whom he compre- 
hended the first mask had been sent. 

Madam,” said he, “ have I really 
quitted, as I begin to believe, the earth 
of men for the world of genii, and are 
you the powerful fairy to whom this fine 
palace belongs ?” 

“ Alas ! Chevalier,” replied the mask- 
ed lady, in a sweet voice, yet defined 
and positive, ‘‘ I am not a pow'erful 
fairy, but on the contrary, a poor iprin- 
cess, persecuted by a wicked enchanter, 
who has torn away my crown, and cruel- 
ly oppressed my kingdom. , So, as you 
see, 1 have sought for a brave knight to 
deliver me, and the sound of your re- 


nown has led me to address myself to 
you.” 

If my life will bring back your for- 
mer power. Madam,” said d’Harmental, 

say the word, and I am ready to risk 
it with joy. Who is the enchanter ? 
Who is the giant who has offended you? 
Since you have chosen me from amongst 
all, 1 must be worthy of the honor you 
have done me. From the moment when 
my word was given, that engagement I 
will hold to at all hazard.” 

“ In that case, Chevalier, you have 
good company,” said the unknovvfi lady, 
undoing the fiistenings of her mask and 
revealing her face; “you are with the 
daughter of Louis the Fourteenth, and 
the grand child of the great Conde.” 

“ Madame, the Duchess du Maine !” 
cried d’Har mental, dropping upon one 
knee. “May Your Highness pardon 
mo if, in not knowing, I have said some-' 
thing which is not in harmony with the 
profound respect I have for her.” 

“ You have but said things for which 
lam grateful, Chevalier ; but perhaps 
you repent of having said them. In 
that case, you are the master, and can 
withdraw them.” 

“ God preserve me, Madam, if, having 
had the fortune to engage my life in the 
service of so great and noble a princess 
as you are, I should be so unhappy as to 
deprive myself of the greatest happiness 
to which 1 have ever aspired. No, Ma- 
dam, seriously, on the contrary, 1 beg 
you to take, that which an hour ago I 
offered laughing, my arm, my sword, 
and my life.” 

“ Chevalier,” said the duchess with 
that smile which rendered her so power- 
ful among those who surrounded her, 

“ I see that the Baron de Valef has not 
deceived me in respect to you, and that 
you are all he announced you. Come, 
let me present you to your friends.” 

The Duchess du Maine walked the 
first, followed by d’Harmental, still as- 
tounded at what had occurred, but re- 
solved, half from pride, half by convic- 
tion, not to make a single retrogade 
step. 

The door^^ntered into the same pass- 
age as that by which his first conductor 
had introduced him. Madam du Maine 
and the chevalier went a few paces to- 


24 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


gether, then the duchess opened the door 
of a saloon where four new personages 
were waiting : they were the Cardinal 
Polignac, the Marquis de Pompadour, 
M. de Malezieux, and the Abbe Brig- 
aud. 

Cardinal Polignac passed for the lover 
of Madam du Maine. He was a fine 
prelate of forty or forty-five years of 
age, always perfectly graceful, with a 
voice unctuous by habit, chilling counte- 
nance, and timid heart ; devoured by 
ambition, eternally struggling with the 
weakness of his character, which left him 
behind every step he would have ad van-* 
ced forward ; besides the high house his 
name indicated, he was very wise for a 
cardinal, and very learned for a lord. 

M. de Pompadour was a man of forty- 
five or fifty years old, who Iiad been one 
of the six gentlemen especially attached 
to the dauphin, the son of Louis XIV., 
and who had experienced so great a love 
and so tender a veneration for all of the 
great king’s family, that, not seeing 
without deep sorrow the Regent upon 
the point of declaring war against Philip 
the Fifth, he had thrown himself, body 
and soul into the party of the Duke du 
Maine. And more, he had set an exam- 
ple of disinterested loyalty rare in those 
days, in sending to the Regent, the pa- 
tent of his pensions and that of his wife, 
and in successively refusing for himself 
and the Marquis de Courcillon, his son- i 
in-law, all the positions which were 
proffered him. 

M. de^Malezieux was a man of sixty 
or sixty-five years. Chancellor of Dom- 
bes and Lord of Chatenay, poet, musi- 
cian, author of little comedies he played 
himself with infinite spirit, always occu- 
pied in pleasing those about him and of 
particular kindness to Madame du 
Maine for whom his devotion was allied 
almost to adoration, he was a type» of 
the sybarites of the eighteenth century : 
but like those sybarites, who, drawn 
away by the aspect of beauty, followed 
CleopaLa to Actiurn, and died surround- 
ing her, he followed his dear Benedicte 
through fire and water, a^jd upon a 
wdrd from her, without hesitation, with- 
out delay,, and I will say without regret, 
he would have thrown himself headlong 
from the towers of Notre Dame. 


The Abbe Brigand was the son of a 
5 Lyons merchant. His fiither, who had 
1 a great share of traffic with the Spanish 
, court, had charged himself to make, of 
- his own mind, overtures of marriage for 
the young Louis the Fourteenth to the 

• Infanta Maria Therese'of Austria. If 

! these overtures had been ill received, 
the French ministers would have dis- 
. avowed them ; but they were well re- 
ceived, and the French ministers gave 
their assent. The marriage had taken 
: place, and as the little Brigand was born 
at the same time as the Dauphin, his fa- 

* ther demanded as recompense that the 
king’s son should stand as g d-fiither to 
his son, which was graciously accorded. 
The more young Brigand was placed 
near the Dauphin, where he knew the 
Marquis de . Pompadour who, as we 
have said, was a page of honor. When 
of an age to take a part. Brigand threw 
himself among the Fathers of the Ora- 
tory and left them an abbe. 

He was a man cunning, skilful, ambi- 
tious, but who, as sometimes happens to 
men of the greatest genius, had missed 
his opportunities to make a fortune. 
Some time before the epoch we are 
upon, he had met tlie Marquis de Pom- 
padour, who was himself seeking for 
some man of spirit and intrigue who 
would be the secretary of Madam du 
Maine. Brigand weighed the good and 
ill chances, and as the good predominat- 
ed, he accepted. 

Of these four men, d’Harmental knew 
personally but the Marquis de Pompa- 
dour, whom he had often met at the 
house of M. de Courcillon, his son-in-law, 
who was somewhat of a parent or an 
ally of d’Harmental. 

Polignac, Pompadour, and Malizieux 
were standing by a fire-place convers- 
ing ; the Abbe Brigand was seated be- 
fore a table classing some papers. 

‘‘ Gentlemen,” said the Duchess, on 
entering, here is the brave champion 
of whom the Baron de Valef spoke and 
to whom you sent your dear de Lanny, 
M. de Malezieux. if his antecedents do 
not suffice for him to serve as a second 
by you, I will personally be his sure- 
ty.” 

“ Presented by your Highness,” said 
Malezieux, ‘‘ it is not only a comrade 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


25 


we see in him, but a chief whom wo are 
ready to follow where he leads us.” 

My dear d'Harmental,” said the 
Marquis de Pompadour, extending his 
hand to the young man, we are already 
almost parents : now we are brothers.” 

“ Be welcome, sir,” said Cardinal Po- 
lignac, in the unctuous tone which was 
his habit, and which so singularly con- 
trasted with the rigidity and coldness of 
his features. 

Brigand raised his head, and turned it 
towards the chevalier with a movement 
which resembled that of a serpent, and 
fixed upon d’Harmental two little spark- 
ling e3"es like the lynx. 

‘‘Gentlemen,” said d’Harmental after 
making a reply by a sign to each of 
them, “I am very recently among you, 
very ignorant, above all, of what has 
passed, and in what I can be of use to 
you : but if my word has only^ been 
engaged some minutes, my devotion to 
the cause for which we are united has 
been of/^many years duration : I beg 
*you then to grant me the confidence 
which Her Serene Highness has so gen- 
erously claimed for me. All that I now 
demand, is a prompt occasion to prove 
to you that 1 am worthy.” 

“ At a good hour !” cried the duchess, 
“ the men of the sword shall finish it ! 
No, M. d’Harmental, no, we shall have 
no secrets from you, and the occasion, 
you demand and which shall put each 
one in his true position, is not long to 
wait for, I hope.” 

“Pardon, madam,” interrupted the 
cardinal, crumpling his lace bands un- 
easily ; “ but, at the way you are pro- 
ceeding, the chevalier may think we are 
acting as a conspiracy.” 

“ And what are we. Cardinal ?” asked 
the duchess impatiently. 

“We act,” resumed the cardinal, “ as 
a council, occult it is true, but not the 
least reprehensible, in which we seek a 
ipeans of remedying the misfortunes of 
the State and to place France upon its 
true interests, in recalling the last will 
of Louis the Fourteenth.” 

“Stay, Cardinal,” said the duchess, 
stamping her foot, “ I shall die of impa- 
tience with all your circumlocutions ! 
Chevalier,” continued she, turning to 
d’Harmental, do not listen to his Emi- 


nence, who, in this moment no doubt, 
thinks of his Anti-Lucrece. If we were 
to act as a simple council, with that ex- 
cellent head of his Eminence, we should 
have no need of you. We act as a fine 
and good conspiracy against the Regent ; 
a conspiracy of which is the King of 
Spain, Cardinal Alberoni, the Duke du 
Maine,. 1 myself, the Marquis de Pompa- 
dour, M. de Malezieux, the Abbe Bri- 
gand, Valef, you, the Cardinal himself, 
the first president, half the parliament, 
and three quarters of France. Dost see 
how we act, Chevalier ? Are you con- 
tent, Cardinal ? Is it clear, gentlemen ?” 

“ Madame !” murmured Malezieux, 
clasping his hands before her with more 
devotion than he would have done before 
the Virgin. 

“ Stay, Malezieux, it is he who con- 
demns me,” continued the duchess, 
“ with his expedients out of season ! 
My God ! but the pain of being men, 
eternally beating about the bush thus! 
/, I who ask for a sword, I who ask for 
a dagger : but they give me a nail only, 
1, a woman, I go, like a new Jael, to 
drive it into the temple of this other 
Sisera. Then all will be finished, and if 
I am baffled, there will be left no com- 
promise.” 

Polignac sighed. Pompadour burst 
into laughter, Malezieux tried to calm 
the duchess, Brigaud lowered his head 
and resumed writing as if he had heard 
nothing. 

As for d’Harmental, he would have 
kissed the hem of the lady’s robe, so 
much did this woman seem superior to 
the four men around her. 

At this moment, they heard the sound 
of a coach, which entered the court and 
stopped before the staircase. Doubtless 
the coming person was a person of im- 
portance, for he caused the greatest si- 
lence^ and the Duchess du Maine, in her 
impatience, went herself to open the 
door. . 

“Wein” demanded she. 

“ He is here,” said, in the Corridor, a 
voice which d’Harmental believed he re- 
cognized as that of the bat. 

“ Enter, enter, Prince 1” said the 
duchess, “ enter ! we await you.” 


26 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


CHAPTER VI. 

PRINCE CELLAMARE. 

Upon this invitation, a man, large, 
thin, grave and dignilied, of a tint burn- 
ed by the sun, entered, enveloped in his 
mantle, and with a single glance em- 
braced all that was within the chamber, 
men and things. The chevalier recog- 
nized the ambassador of their Catholic 
Majesties, the Prince of Cellamare. 

“Well, Prince,^’ inquired the duchess, 
“ what news have you 

“ I say, Madame,” replied the prince, 
respectfully kissing her hand, and throw- 
ing his mantle upon a chair, “ I say that 
Your Serene Highness should change 
your coachman. I predict misfortune if 
she keeps in her service the rogue who 
drove me here ; he has all the air of be- 
ing payed by the Regent to break the 
necks of Your Highness and her 
friends !” 

All burst into laughter, and particu- 
larly the coachman himself, who had fa- 
miliarly entered behind the Prince, and 
who, throwing his greatcoat and hat on 
a chair near the one Prince Cellamare 
had deposited his on, showed a man of 
haughty mien, of thirty-five or forty 
years of age, having the lower portion 
of his face hidden by a chin-piece of 
black taffeta. 

“ Did you hear, my dear Laval, what 
the prince said of you inquired the. 
duchess. 

“Yes, yes;” said Laval, “he gives 
the Montmorencies such treatment! 
Ah ! M. le Prince, the first Christian 
barons are not worthy to be your coach- 
men. Peste ! you are hard to please. 
Have you many coachmen, then, at Na- 
ples who date from Robert the Strong ?” 

“ How I it is you, my dear Count,” 
said the prince, extending his hand. 

“ Myself, Prince. Madam le Duchess 
sent away her coachman to spend Mid- 
lent with his family, and I took the ser- 
vice upon me for this night ; she thought 
it would be more sure.” 

“And Madam le Duchess did well,” 
said Cardinal Polignac ; “ one cannot 
take too many precautions.” 

“ Aye. Your Emine ce,” said Laval. 


“ I would like to know if you would be 
of the same mind after having passed 
half the night upon the box of a coach, 
first to go seek M. dTLarmental at the 
Opera Ball, and now to bring the Prince 
from the Hotel Colbert.” 

“ How,” said d’Harmental, “ it is you, 
M. le Count, who had ” 

“ Yes, it is I, young man,” replied 
Laval, “and I should go to the end of 
the wmrld to bring you here, for I know 
you are a brave man ; it was you who 
were among the first at Denain, and who 
took Albemarle. You have had the 
good fortune not to leave half your jaw 
as I left half mine in Italy, and you were 
right, for it was the motive the more for 
you to leave your regiment, they need- 
ed rest.” 

“We shall return all that, Chevalier ; 
be easy, and a hundred-fold,” said the 
duchess ; “ but for the moment, let us 
speak of Spain. Prince, have you news 
of Alberoni ] Pompadour said you had 
received some.” 

“ Yes, Your Highness.” 

“ What are they ?” 

“ Good and bad at the one time. His 
Majesty, Philip the Fifth, is in one of 
his moments of melancholy, and can de- 
cide on nothing. He may be thinking 
of the quadruple alliance.” 

“ He may not think,” cried the duch- 
ess, “ and that treaty will be signed at 
the hour ; and in eight days, Dubois 
will bring it here.” 

“ I know it. Your Highness,” coldly 
returned Cellamare ; “ but His Catholic 
Majesty does not.” 

“ So we are abandoned to ourselves.” 

“ But — nearly ” 

“ But then what did the queen, and to 
what end are all her fine promises, and 
that pretended empire over her hus- 
band ?” 

“ That empire. Madam,” responded 
the prince, “ she promises to give you 
the proofs of, when something shall be 
done.” 

“ Yes,” said Cardinal Polignac ; “and 
then she may forget the word.” 

“ No, Your Eminence : I give my 
guarantee.” 

“ What I see most clearly in it all,” 
said Laval ; “ is that the king must be 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


27 


compromised ; once compromised, he 
will march !” 

“ Come, then said Cellamare, ‘‘ we 
are approaching it.” 

‘‘ But how to compromise him,” ask- 
ed the. duchess, “ without a letter of his, 
without a message, even verbal, at five 
hundred leagues distance 

“ Has he not his representative at 
Paris, and is not that representative here 
at this hour, Madam ?” 

‘‘ Stay, Prince,” said the duchess, 

you have more extended powers than 
you avow.” 

“No; my powers borne to you say 
that the citadel of Toledo and the for- 
tress of Sarragossa, are at your ser- 
vice. Find a means to make the Regent 
to enter them, and their Catholic Majes- 
ties will so well close the door upon 
him, that he will no more go out, I an- 
swer for it !” 

“ It is impossible,” said Polignac. 

“ Impossible, and why V cried d’Har- 
mental. “ Nothing more simple, on the 
contrary. Eight or ten men, men I say, 
a well closed carriage, and relays to 
Bayonne.” 

“ I have already offered myself,^’ said 
Laval. 

“ And I, also,” said Pompadour. 

“ It the thing is checked,” said the 
duchess, “ the Regent, who knows us, 
will know to whom to lay the matter, 
and you will be lost.” 

“ Once arrived at Toledo or Sarragos- 
sa,^’ coldly said Cellaniare, “ he must be 
strong to escape.” 

“And the cordon hleu,^^ added the 
duchess, “ if he returns to Paris.” 

“ Oh ! silence, I supplicate you. Ma- 
dam,” said d’Harmental, “for if Your 
Highness says such things, devotion 
takes an air of ambition which destroys 
all the merit. I offer myself for the 
enterprise, as the Regent does not know 
me. And though I say it, I believe I 
am worthy of the confidence of Your 
Highness and capable of justifying it.” 

“ How, Chevalier,” cried the duchess, 
“ you will risk yourself?” 

“My life, that is all I can risk. I 
believoi that I have already offered it to 
Your Highness, and Your Highness has 
accepted it. Am I wrong ?” 

“ No, no,' Chevalier,” said the duchess 


quickly, “ and you are a brave and loyal 
gentleman. There are presentiments, I 
have always believed them, and the mo- 
ment whenValef pronounced yournanie 
something told me what you were. Gen- 
tlemen, you have heard what the chev- 
alier has heard. In what can you aid 
him !” 

“ In all that he would,” said Laval 
and Pompadour. 

“ The coffers of their Catholic Majes- 
ties are at his disposal,” said Prince 
Cellamare. 

“ Thanks, gentlemen,” said d’Harmen- 
tal, turning towards Laval and then to 
Pompadour ; “ Occupy yourselves only 
in procuring a pass-port to Spain, as if 
I was charged with conducting a prison- 
er of importance. That will be easy.” 

“ I will do that,” said the abbe ; “ I 
can get at Argenson’s, a paper al- 
ready prepared except the signatures.” 

“ See that dear Brigand,” said Pom- 
padour, “ he does not speak often, but 
he speaks well.” 

“ He should be a cardinal,” said the 
Duchess du Maine, “ rather than some 
great lords 1 know of ; but once we are 
rid of the blue and the red, be easy. 
Now, Chevalier, you heard the prince’s 
words : if you have need of mo- 
ney ” 

“Unfortunately,” said d’Harmental, 
“ I am not rich enough to refuse His 
Excellency’s offer, and, when I arrive at 
the last of a thousand pistoles I have 
perhaps with me, I will have recourse 
to ,you.” 

“ To me, to him, to us all, Chevalier. 
1 have little actual money, but am strong 
in diamonds and pearls ; so want for no- 
thing, I entreat you. Every one is not 
as disinterested as you, and they must 
be bought with a golden price.” 

“ But, sir, have you well thought 
upon the enterprise? If you are cap- 
tured !” 

“Be assured, Your Eminence,” re- 
plied d’Harmental, disdainfully, “ if I 
am taken, it is an affair between the Re- 
gent and I, and my vengeance is per- 
sonal.” 

“ But,” said Count Laval, “ there 
must be a species of lieutenant in this 
enterprise, a man upon whom we can 
depend. Have you such a one V 


28 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


I think 1 have,” replied d’Hamien- 
tal. Only, I must know every morn- 
ing where the Regent spends the night 
M. le Prince de Cellamare, as an am- 
.bassador, must have his secret police.” 

“ Yes,” said the prince, embarrassed : 
‘‘ I have some men who render an ac- 
count ” 

‘‘That is just it,” said d’Harmental. 

“But where do you lodge?” inquired 
the cardinal. 

“Number 74, me Richelieu, my 
Lord,” replied d’Harmental. 

“And how long have you dwelt 
there ?” 

“ Three years.” 

“ Then you are too well known, sir, 
you must change the quarter. They 
will not know the persons you receive, 
and when one sees strange faces he is 
uneasy.” 

“ This time Your Eminence is right,” 
said d’Harmental ; “ I will find another 
lodging in some far off quarters.” 

“ I’ll take care of that,” said Brigand. 
“ The costume 1 wear will inspire no 
suspicions, I will retain your lodging as 
if it was destined for a young man from 
the provinces who has been recommend- 
ed to me and who is to take some post 
under a minister.” 

“ Truly, my dear Brigand,” said 
Pompadour, “ you are like that 
princess of the Thousand and One 
Nights, who never opened her mouth 
without she let fall pearls.” 

“ Well ! it is a thing agreed, M. le Ab- 
be,” said d’Harmental ;“ I will announce 
to-day that I leave Paris for a journey 
of three months.” 

“ So then, all is ready,” said the 
Duchess du Maine joyfully. “ This is 
the first time we see our affairs clearly, 
and it is thanks to you, Chevalier. I 
shall not forget it.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Malezieux, draw- 
ing out his watch, “ 1 will observe that 
it is two o’clock of the morning and that 
we are wearied to death, my dear 
duchess.” 

“You are wrong. Seneschal,” replied 
the duchess ; “ such nights one never 
sleeps ; it is a long time since I have 
passed one so well.” 

“ Prince,” said Laval, taking his 
greatcoat, “ you must content yourself 


with me for a coacnrnan till you are at 
your door, unless you love better to go 
on foot.” 

“ No, in faith !” said the prince, “ I will 
risk it, I am Neapolitan, and I believe in 
presages. If you oveiturn me, it will 
be a sign that we must hold together 
or fall; if you take me safely, that will 
say that we may go onward.” 

“ Pompadour,” said the duchess, “will 
you conduct M. d’Harmental ?” 

“ Willingly,” responded the marquis ; 
“ it is a long while since we have met, 
and we have many things to say.” 

“ Can I not take leave of my spright- 
ly bat ?” asked d’Harmental ; “ for I 
must not forget that it is to her I owe 
the happiness of having offered my ser- 
vices to Your Highness.” 

“ De Lauuay !” said the duchess, lead- 
ing Prince Cellamare and Count Laval 
to the door. “ De Launay ! here is the 
Chevalier d’Harmental, who pretends 
that you are the greatest sorceress he 
ever saw in his life.” 

“ W ell !” said on entering, a smile 
upon her lips, she who has left such 
charming memoirs under the name of 
Madame de Stael, “ do you believe in 
my prophecies, M. le Chevalier ?” 

“ 1 believe because 1 hope,” replied 
the chevalier ; “ but at the time when I 
knew who was the fairy who had sent 
you, the futfire did not astound me ; how 
were you so well instructed upon the 
past and the present ?” 

“ Come, de Launay,” said the duchbss 
laughingly ; “ be good to him, and tor- 
ment him no more; otherwise, he will 
believe we are two magicians, and he 
will be afraid of us.” 

“ Was there not some of your friends, 
Chevalier,” inquired de Launay, “ who 
left you this morning at the Bois de 
Boulogne, to come and bid us fare 
well ?” 

“Valef! Valef!” cried d’Harmental 
“ I understand, now.” 

“ Come then !” said Madam du Maine. 

“But the mathematics? but Virgil? 
but the anatomy?” resumed d’Harmen- 
tal. ^ 

“ Are you ignorant, Chevalier,” said 
Malezieux, mingling in with the conver- 
satmn, “that we call her here our phil- 
osopher? with the exception of Chau- 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


29 


lieu, who calls her his coquette, but it 
is by license and in a poetical manner.” 

‘‘How! but,” added the duchess, 
“ we left her the other day with Daver- 
noy, our physician, and he was amazed 
upon her knowledge of anatomy.” 

“ So,” said the Marquis de Pompa- 
dour, taking d’Harmental’s arm, “ does 
the brave man pretend in his disappoint- 
ment that it is a daughter of France who 
best knows the human body ?” 

“That is,” said the Abbe Brigand, 
folding his papers, “ the first philosopher 
who has been permitted to say a good 
word ; it is true that it is without doubt- 
ing.” 

And d’Harmental and Pompadour, 
having taken leave of the Duchess du 
Maine, retired laughing, follow'ed by the 
Abbe Brigaud. 

“Well,” said Madam du Maine, ad- 
dressing Cardinal Polignac, who remain- 
ed the last with Malezieux, “ Your Em- 
inence still finds it a terrible thing to 
conspire ?” 

“ Madam,” replied the cardinal, who 
could not understand how any one could 
laugh when his head was at stake, “ 1 
will return the question when we are 
all in the Bastile.” 

And he went out in his turn with the 
good chancellor, deploring his bad for- 
tune, which had urged him into so 
hazardous an enterprise. 

• The Duchess du Maine looked at him 
go out with a scornful expression which 
she could not dissimulate ; then, when 
she was alone with Mademoiselle de 
Launay : 

“ My dear Sophie,” said she joyfully, 
“ extinguish our lantern, for I believe 
we have at last found a man I” 


CHAPTER VII. 

ALBERONI. 

When d’Harmental awoke, he believ- 
ed he had had a dream. Events had, 
for thirty-six hours, succeeded with such 
rapidity, that hd had been swept along 
as if by a whirlwind, without knowing 
where he was going. Now only, could 
he reflect; upon the past and the future. 


We live in a time when each one 
more or less conspires. We know then 
by ourselves, how in such cases, events 
transpire. After an engagement made 
in a moment of exaltation, the first feel- 
ing one experiences, is a sentiment of 
regret for having been so forward, when 
a glance has been thrown upon our new 
position ; then, little by little, one is fa- 
miliarized with the idea of the perils one 
runs : the imagination, always so com- 
plaisant, presents to our sight the ambi- 
tions ^vhich may be realized. Soon, 
pride is awakened; one comprehends 
that he has become an occult power in 
the State, where before he was nothing ; 
he passes disdainfully by those who live 
a common existence ; one marches on 
with a higher head, an eye more bril- 
liant ; one sleeps in his hopes, and he 
awakens some morning vanquisher or 
vanquished, upheld by the people, or 
crushed by the wheels of that machine 
which is called the government. 

It was thus with d'Harmental. The 
age in which he lived was still upon the 
neighborhood of the League, and almost 
touched the Fronde; a generation of 
men had scarcely passed since the can- 
non of the Bastile had sustained the re- 
bellion of the great Conde. During 
this generation, Louis XIV. had filled 
the scene, it is true, by his omnipotent 
will ; but Louis XlV. was no more, and 
the grandsons believed that, on the same 
theatre and with the same machines, 
they could play the same play their fa- 
ther had played. 

In fact, as we have said, after some 
instants of reflection, d’Harmental again 
saw things under the same aspect as be- 
fore, and felicitated himself on having 
taken, as he had done, the first place in 
the midst of such high personages as 
were the Montmorencies and the Polig 
nacs. His family, by reason perhaps of 
its having been in the provinces, had 
transmitted to him much of that adven- 
turous knight-errantry so in the fashion 
under Louis the Thirteenth, and which 
Richelieu had not entirely destroyed up- 
on the scaffold, nor Louis the Four- 
teenth extinguished in the ante-chambers. 
There was something romantic in rank- 
ing under the banners of a woman, above 
all when that woman was the giand- 


30 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


daughter of the great Conde. And then, 
one holds so little to life when twenty- 
six years of age, that one risks it each 
instant for many things less useful than 
an enterprise of the sort of which d’- 
Harmental had become the principal 
chief. 

So he resolved not to lose time in 
fulfiling the promises he had made. 
He did not conceal that from this hou r 
he belonged no longer to himself, and 
that the eyes of all the conspirators, 
from those of Philip the Fifth to those 
of the Abbe Brigaud, were fixed upon 
him. Supreme interests attached him 
to his will, and on his more or less cour- 
age and prudence hung the destiny of 
two kingdoms and the politics of the 
world. 

“In fact, at that hour, the Regent 
was the keystone of the European 
edifice, and France, who had not yet 
counterbalanced the North, began to 
take, by arms or at least by diplomacy, 
that influence which ^he has unfortu- 
nately not preserved ever since. Placed, 
as she was, in the centre of the triangle 
formed by the three great powers, her 
eyes fixed upon Germany, an arm ex- 
tended towards England, and the other 
towards Spain, ready to turn as a friend 
eras an enemy to either of the three 
States, she had taken, since the eighteen 
months when the Duke of Orleans 
had come upon affairs, an attitude 
of forced calmness which she had never 
done before, even under Louis the 
Fourteenth. That held to the division 
of affairs which had brought about the 
usurpation of William of Orange and 
the accession of Philip the F'ifth to the 
throne. Faithful to his old hatred 
against the Stadtholder of Holland, who 
had rejected his daughter, Louis XIV. 
had constantly supported the pretensions 
of James IL, and those of the Chev- 
alier Saint George. Faithful to his 
family bond with Philip V., he had ever 
sustained, with succors of men and mo- 
ney, his grandchild against the Em- 
peror, incessantly enfeebled by this 
double war which cost him much blood 
and gold, he had been reduced to that 
famous Peace of Utrecht which caused 
him such shame. 

But, at the death of the old King all 


was changed, and the Regent had adopt- 
ed a course not only new, but entirely 
different. The Treaty of Utrecht was 
but a truce, which was broken at the 
moment when England and Holland so- 
licited common interests with French 
politics. Consequently, the Regent had 
at first held out his hand to George the 
First, and the Treaty of the Triple Al- 
liance had been signed at La Haye, on 
the 4th of February 1717, by the Ab- 
be Dubois in the name of France, by 
General Cadogan for England, and by 
the Pensiomh-y Heinsius for Holland. 
This was a great step for the pacifica- 
tion of Europe, but it was not a definite 
step. The interests of Austria and 
Spain remained still in suspense. 
Charles tbe Sixth had not yet recognised 
Philip the Fifth, as King of Spain, and 
Philip the Fifth on his side, would not 
renounce his rights upon the provinces 
of the Spanish monarchy which the 
Treaty of Utrecht, in compensation 
for the throne of Philip the Second, had 
ceded to the Emperor. 

From that time the Regent had but 
one thought, that of leading, by amica- 
ble negociations, Charles VI. to recog- 
nise Philip V. to abandon his preten- 
tions upon the provinces transferred to 
the Emperor. 

This was the design at the moment 
when our recital commences, Dubois 
was at London, soliciting the Treaty of 
the Quadruple Alliance with still more 
ardor than he had done for that of La 
Haye. 

But, this treaty, in binding as in one 
sheaf the interests of France, of Eng- 
land, of Holland and of the Empire, 
neutralised all pretentions any other 
state should make, which should not be 
approved by the four great powers. 
So this was all that was feared by 
Philip V., or rather Cardinal Alberoni. 
for Philip V., as he had a wife and a 
chapel, occupied himself solely in pass- 
ing from his chamber to his chapel. 

It was not thus,though,with Alberoni. 
He had one of those strange natures 
which, in all times, urged men to be 
around thrones; he was one of those 
caprices which chance raises and breaks, 
as those gigantic waterspouts which one 
sees advance over the ocean, threateninsr 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


31 


to swallow all, and which a liaudopiko 
thrown by the lowest sailor inaUes fall 
into vapor : he was one of those aval- 
anches which menace to engulf towns 
and choke up valleys, because a bird in 
taking its flight, had detached a flake of 
snow from the mountain summit. 

It would be a curious history to niake 
that of the great effects produced by a 
small cause from the Greeks to us. 

^ The love of Helen brought on the 
i Trojan war, and changed the face of 
Greece. The rape of Lucrece drove the 
Tarquins from Rome. An insulted hus- 
band led Brennus to the capitol. La 
Cava introduced the Moors into Spain. 
A poor joke written by a young fop 
upon the chair of an old Doge over- 
threw Venice. The evasion of Dear- 
bliorgil with Alac Murchad produced 
the enslaving of Ireland. The order 
given, it is said, to Cromwell to leave 
the vessel upon which he had already 
embarked to go to America resulted in 
the decapitation of Charles the First 
and the fall of the Stuarts. A discus- 
sion between Louis XIV. and Louvois 
upon a window of Trianoli, caused the 
war of Holland. A glass of water 
spilled upon the dress of Mistress 
Marsharn deprived the Duke of Marl- 
borough of his command and saved 
France by the Treaty of Utrecht. Fi- 
nally Europe might have been over- 
run by fire and sword because M. de 
Vendome had received the Archbishop 
of Parma seated upon his close-stool. 

Thus had been the source of Albe- 
roni’s fortune. 

Alberoni had been, born under a 
gardener’s hut. A child, he was a bell- 
ringer : a young man, he had exchanged 
his wagoner’s frock to be a clergyman. 
He was of humor gay and comical. 
The Duke of Parma had heard him 
laugh so heartily one morning, that the 
poor duke, who had not laughed all his 
days, wished to know wdiat caused his 
gaiet}',and called him. Alberoni told 
him 1 know not what grotesque adven- 
ture ; the laugh gained upon His High- 
ness, and His Highness perceiving that 
it was good sometime to laugh, attached 
him to his person. By degrees, and 
ever amused by his tales, the duke 
found that his jester had wit, and com- 


prehended that that wit would not be 
incapable of business. Then it was 
that, mortified at the reception he had 
received from the generalissimo of the 
French army, there returned the poor 
Archbishop of Parma of whom we, in- 
deed, know his reception. The suscep- 
tibility of this envoy might compromise 
grave interests with France ; so His 
Highness judged that Alberoni would 
be the man whom nothing could humi- 
liate, and sent the abbe to finish the ne- 
gociation w'hich the archbishop had 
left interrupted. 

M. de Vendome, who would not dis- 
turb himself for an archbishop, would 
not do it for an abbe, and he received 
the second ambassador of His Highness 
as he had' the first ; but, instead o( fol 
lowing the example of his predecessor, 
Alberoni so pleased M. de Vendome 
with quaint jests and singular sallies 
that he returned to the duke with all 
things arranged to his wish. 

This was a reason why the duke em- 
ployed him upon the second affair. This 
time, M. de Vendome was at table, Al- 
beroni, instead of speaking to him of 
business, asked permission to cook two 
dishes in his fashion, descended to the 
kitchen and returned, bearing soup in 
one hand and maccaroni in the other. 
M. de Vendome found the soup so good 
that he desired Alberoni to eat with 
him, at his table. At the dessert, Al- 
beroni broached his affairs, and, profit 
ing by the disposition the dinner had 
upon M. de Vendome, he went off 
triumphant. His Highness was won- 
derstruck ; the greatest genius of those 
he had with him could not have done 
the like. 

Alberoni had done well in giving his 
receipt to the cook. So, this time M. 
de Vendome demanded if the Duke of 
Parma had nothing to say to him. His 
Highness took no pains to find another 
ambassador, but sent Alberoni again. 
The latter found means of persuading 
his sovereign that the place where he 
would be the most useful was near M. 
de Vendome, and M. de Vendome could 
not live without his soup and his mac- 
caroni, In consequence, M. de Ven- 
dome took him i. to his service, let him 
put his hand to his most secret affairs 


82 


THE ORANGE PLUME j OR, 


ai^d finished by making him his secre- 
tary. 

Then it was that M. de Vendome 
went into Spain. Alberoni took up. re- 
lations with Madam des Ursi s ; and 
when M. de Vendome died, in 1712, at 
Tig'iiaros, she gave him the situation he 
had filled under the defunct; it was al- 
ways mounting. 

The Princess des Ursins began to be 
old, an unpardonable crime in the eyes 
of Philip V. She resolved to keep, 
through Alarie de Savoy, a young wo- 
man, the intermediary which she con- 
tinued over the King. Alberoni pro- 
posed the daughter of kis former mas- 
ter, whom he represented to be a child 
without character and without will, who 
would never claim of the kingdom any- 
thing but a name. The Princess des 
Ursins let this promise be taken, the 
marriage was stopped, and the young 
princess quitted Italy for Spain. 

Her first act of authority was to have 
the Princess des Ursins arrested, she 
having preceded her in court habits, 
and to have her conducted as she was, 
without mantle, with uncovered neck, in 
a cold of ten degrees, in a coach of 
which a glass had been broken by one 
of the guards, to Burgos first, then to 
Prance, where she arrived, after having 
been forced to borrow fifty pistoles of 
her domestics. Her coachman had his 
arm frozen and they cut it off. 

After his first interview with Eliza- 
beth Farnese, the King of Spain an- 
nounced to Alberoni that he was prime 
minister. 

From that day, thanks to the young 
Queen, who was to him all, the ex-bell- 
ringer had exercised a boundless do- 
minion over Philip V. 

Thus Alberoni had dreamed, who, 
as we have said, had ever opposed 
Philip the Fifth recognising the Peace of 
Utrecht. If the conspiracy succeeded, 
if d’Harmental captured the Duke of 
Orleans, and conducted him to the cita- 
del of Toledo or the fortress of Sara- 
gossa, Alberoni would recognize the 
Duke du Maine as Regent, remove 
France from the Quadruple Alliance, 
throw the Chevalier de Saint George in 
a fleet upon the English coast, give 
Prussia, Sweden, and Russia, with 


whom he had treaties of alliance, a 
clutch upon Holland. The empire 
would profit by this struggle to retake 
Naples and Sicily, and assure the grand- 
duchy of Tuscany, ready to become 
without a master by the extinction of 
the Medici, to the second son of the 
King of Spain ; unite the Lower Cath- 
olic Countries to France, give Sardinia 
to the Dukes of Savoy, Commachio to 
the Pope, Mantua to the Vehitians : 
become the soul of the great league of 
Mid-Europe against the North, and if 
Louis XV. died, crown Philip V. as 
King of half ot the world 
This was not badly calculated, one 
will allow, for a maker of maccarpni. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A PASHA OP OUR ACQUAINTANCE, 

All these events - were in the hands 
of a young man of twenty-six : it is 
not astonishing that he wgs somewhat 
frightened at first at the responsibility 
which weighed upon him. He was in 
the midst of his reflections when the 
Abbe Brigand entered. He had already 
found, at No. 5, rue du Temps-perdu, 
between the rue Gros-Chenet and the 
rue Montmartre, a little furished cham- 
ber, which was suitable for a poor young 
man from the country who came to seek 
a fortune in Paris. He brought beside 
two thousand pistoles from Prince Cella- 
mare. D’Harmental would have refused, 
for it seemed to hi^n that, from that mo- 
ment he should act but conformably to 
his conscience ; but Brigand made him 
comprehend that, in such an enterprize, 
he had accomplices to pay, and besides, 
if the affair succeeded, he must depart, 
on the instant even, for Spain and open 
the road perhaps with a golden key. 

Brigand also brought a complete cos- 
tume for the chevalier, simple as those 
a young man would wear who sued for 
a place under a minister. He was a 
precious man that Abbe Brigand. 

D’FIarmental passed the rest of the 
day in making the preparation for his 
pretended journey, taking care not to 
leave, in case of unsuccessful events, a 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


33 


single letter which might compromise a 
friend; then, when night had come, he 
set out for the rue Saint Honore, where, 
from the Norman, he hoped to have 
news of Captain Roquefinette. 

In fact, from the moment when a 
lieutenant had been spoken of for the 
undertaking, he had instantly thought 
of this man whom he had been led to 
meet by chance, and who had given as 
his second a proof of his reckless cour- 
age. He had but need to throw a 
glance upon him to recognise him as one 
of those adventurers, remnants of the 
condottieri of the Middle Ages, always 
ready to sell their blood to any one who 
offered a good price, who had been 
thrown aside by the peace, and who then 
lent their swords, become useless to' the 
State, to the service of individuals. 

Such a man has gloomy and mysteri- 
ous relations with those individuals 
without name, who are always found at 
the base of conspiracies ; machines who 
are made to act without their knowing 
for what object they labor, nor what is 
the result they produce ; be the design 
thwarted, or be it successful, disperse at 
the sound which they made burst above 
their own heads, and who are astonish- 
ed to see themselves disappear in the 
lowest of the populace, like the demons 
who descend, m a play, through the 
traps of a theatre. 

Captain Roquefinette was then indis- 
pensible to the chevalier’s projects, and 
as in becoming a conspirator he had be- 
come superstitious, d’Harmental began 
to believe that it was God himself who 
had led him to him. 

The chevalier, without being a custom- 
er had an acquaintance with Fillon. It 
was a fashion, at that period, to go some- 
times at least to get tipsy at the house 
of that woman. So, d’Harmental was 
neither her son to her, as she familiarly 
called the frequenters, nor her god-fa- 
ther, a name she reserved for the Abbe 
Dubois ; he was M. le Chevalier, a mark 
of consideration strongly humiliating to 
the majority of the young men of the 
times, Fillon was rather astonished 
then, when d’Harmental, after having 
called her, asked if he could not speak 
to that one of her boarders who was 
known under the name of the Norman. 


“ Oh, my God, M. le Chevalier ” said 
she, I am truly sorry that such a thing 
should happen to you, who I wish to at- 
tach to the house, but the Norman is en- 
gaged till to-morrow evening.” 

“ The plague !” cried the chevalier. 

Oh ! no, not the plague,” returned 
Fillon, ‘‘ it is the whim of an old friend 
to whom I am devoted.” 

Then he has money, of course.” 

W ell ! this time you are wrong. He 
is in my debt. It is a weakness, but 
he is an old friend ; it was he who set 
me up in the world, M. le Chevalier, I 
who had the best in Paris, to begin with 
M. le Regent, I am daughter of a poor 
chairman. Oh ! I am not like the most 
of the duchesses who forget their origin, 
and like three quarters of your dukes 
who manufacture pedigrees. No, I have 
my own merit.” 

Then,” said the chevalier, who had 
little curiosity, in the situation he was 
in, f)r the history of Fillon, interesting 
though it might be, you say that the 
Norman will be here to-morrow eve- 
ning ?” 

‘‘ She is here, M. le Chevalier, she is 
here ; only, as I tell you, she and four 
of her friends are with my old soldier 
of a captain,” 

‘‘ Say, then, my dear President (this 
was a name which was sometimes given 
to Fillon, since she had known a certain 
president who had borne the same name 
as herself), perchance that your captain 
may be my captain 

How do you call yours ?” 

“ Captain Roquefinette.” 

It is himself !” 

‘‘Is be here f’ 

“ In person.” 

“ Well ! he is just the one with whom 
I have business, and 1 only asked for the 
Norman to know the captain’s address.” 

“Then all is well,” responded the 
president. 

“ Will you have the goodness to call 
him I” 

“ Oh ! he will not come down, even if 
It was the Regent himself would speak 
to him. If you wish to see him, go 
up.” 

“And where ?” 

“ To room. No. 2, where you supped 
with the Baron de Vaief, the other eve- 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


ning. Oh ! when he has money, nothing 
ifl too good f(n* him. He is l)ut a cap- 
tain, but he has the heart of a king.” 

“ Better and better !” said dHIarmen- 
tal, mounting the staircase, without for- 
getting the adventure wdiich had happen- 
ed in that room and which had turned 
his mind to the new direction he had 
taken. The heart of a king, my dear 
president ! it is just what I wish.” 

Even if d’Harmental had n.)t knowm 
the chamber in question, he could not 
have been deceived, for on reaching the 
first landing, he beard ihe voice of the 
brave captain which served him asguid(‘. 

‘^Come, my little loves,” said he, ‘‘the 
third and last verse ! and then all togeth- 
er for the chorus !” Then he sung in a 
magnificent base voice, one of the popu- 
lar ballads of the day. 

Five or six female voices took up 
the chorus : 

“ But take not our dog, 

We liiive need of his presence.” 

‘‘That is better,” said the captain, 
“ that is better, pass now to the Battle 
of Malplaqiiet.” 

“ Oh ! not at all,” said a voice. 
“ Your battle I have had enough oi 1” 

“ What ! you have had enough of my 
battle ! a battle I was in in person, inor- 
bleu !” 

“Oh! I like a ballad better than 
your wicked w^ar songs full of oaths 
which offend the good God.” And she 
began to chant : 

“Luivnl loved Arsenia, 

He could not furgel — ” 

“ Silence I” interrupted the captain. 
“ Am 1 not master here ? While 1 have 
money I wish to be amused in my own 
manner. When I have not a sou, it is 
another thing,- you can sing wiiat you 
please, and 1 will have notliiiig to say.” 

It appeared that the captain’s guests 
found it below the dignity of their sex 
not to sustain such an accusation, for 
they made such a tumult that d’ liar- 
mental judged that it was time to put 
an end to the wrangle ; consequently, 
he rapped at the door. 

“Turn llie knob,” said the captain, 
“and the door will open.” 

In fict, against ail probability, the 
key had remained in the lock; d’flar- 
menta.1 folio W('d ih(‘n point by point 


all the captain's instruction which was 
given in the slang of the gibbet-birds, 
and having opened the door, found 
himself face to face with the captain 
crouched upon the carpet, before the 
remains of a bounteous dinner, leaning 
upon cushions, a great pipe in his mouth, 
and a shawl rolled around his head in 
turban fashion. Three or four girls 
were around him. Upon an arm chair 
was deposited his coat, upon which one 
remarked a new' ribbon, his hat w'hich 
had new lace, and Colichemarde, that 
famous sword wHiich had inspired Ra- 
vmme with his facetious comparison be- 
tween it and his mother’s spit. 

“Howl it is you chevalier 1” cried 
the captain. “ You find me like M. de 
Bomieval, in my seraglio and in the 
midst of my odalisks. You do not 
know M. de Bonneval, young ladies 1 
he is one of my friends, a pacha of three 
tails, who like me, cannot endure bal- 
lads. God guard me from an end like 
his ! that is all 1 ask for.” 

“ Yes, it is 1 , Captain,” said D’Har- 
mental, who could not refrain from 
laughing at the grotesque group under 
his eyes. “ I see that you have not 
given me a false address, and 1 felicit 
ate you upon your veracity.” 

“ Be w'elcome, Chevalier,” said the 
captain. “ Young ladies, I pray you to 
serve th’s gentleman as you would treat 
me in all things, and to sing him what 
songs ho pleases. Seat yourself then, 
and eat and diink as if you w'cre at 
at home, for it is your horse which you 
cat and drink. He is already more 
tlian half gone; poor animal! but the 
the remainder is so good.” 

“Thank you. Captain. I have dined, 
and I have but a w'ord to tell you, if you 
will per] nit it.” 

“No, pardieu ! I will not permit it,” 
said the captain, “ unless it is for anoth- 
er duel. Oh, that passes before all ! If 
it is for a duel, always that first ! 
Norm in, hand me my rapier.” 

“ No, Captain, it is for business.” 

“If it is for business, your servant 
with all my heart, Chevalier. I am 
more tyranical than the tyrant of Thebes, 
or Coi’intli, Archias, Pelopidas, Leon- 
das ; I Jvnow as woll as Olibrius how 
to put oil’ affairs till to-morrow. 1 have 


TIIK VAUDK 0? TII'F: 


TTioiiey eiK^ugh until to-morrow night. 
Then affairs are serious.” 

Blit at least, after to-morrow, Cap- 
tain,” said d’llarmental, I can count 
upon .you, can I not?” 

“ For I’fe or death, Chevalier !” 

“ I believe also that the. adjoijrnnient 
is more prudent.” 

“ Most pi-iidont,” said the captain. 

Athena is re-light my pipe.” 

‘‘ Day after to-morrow, then.” 

Day after to-morrow. But where 
will [ find 3 'ou ?” 

‘"Promenade from ten to eleven 
o’clock of the morning in the rue du 
Temps-perdu look from time to time in 
the air ; you will be called from some 
part.” 

“ That is said, Chevalier, from ten 
to eleven o’clock in the morning. Par- 
don if I do not show you out, but it 
is not the habit of the Turks.” 

The chevalier, made a sign of the 
hand that he dispensed with that formal- 
ity, and having closed the door behind 
him, began to descend the stairs. He 
had not reached the fouidh st(‘p before 
he heard the captain, faithfid to his 
first ideas, singing with all the force 
of his lungs that famous chant of the 
Dragoons at Malplaquet, which had per- 
haps made him lose as much blood in 
duels as he had shed upon the battle- 
field. 


.. CHAPTER IX. 

THE ATTIC. 

The next day, the Abbe Brigaud ar- 
rived at the chevalier’s. He was a man 
of perfect exactitude. He brought 
three things very useful to the cheva- 
lier ; clothing, passport, and the re- 
port of the secret police of Prince Cel- 
iamare, upon what M. le Regent would 
do on the present day of the 24th of 
March, 1718. » 

The clothes were simple, such as 
agreed with a son of a countryman, 
coming t-o make his fortune in Paris. 
The chevalier tried them on, and thanks' 
to his mien, simple as they were they' 
became him admirably. .Brigand shook 


liASTILK. .35 

I 

his head ; he would have liked it better 
if the chevalier had a less fine appear^ 
ance ; but that was an irreparable mis- 
fortune, and he was forced to console 
himself. 

The passport was in the name of 
Senor Diego, steward of the noble 
house of Oropesa, who had the mission 
of taking to Spain a soi‘t of maniac, a 
bastard of the afore.said house, whose 
madness was in believing himself Re- 
gent of France. This precaution was, 
as one may see, in advance of all the 
outcries the Duke of Orleans might 
make from his coach. And as the pass- 
port was in due form, besides, signed 
by Prince Cellamare, and by mes- 
sire Voyer d’Argeiison, there was no 
reason why the Regent, once in the car- 
riage, would not go safely on to Pam- 
pelime, where all was arranged. The 
signature above all of messire Voyer 
d’Argenson was imitated with a truth- 
fulness which did honor to the penman 
of Prince Cellamare. 

As for tiie report, it was a master- ' 
piece of cleai ness and punctuation. We 
repi'oduce it lextually to give at one 
time an idea of the Prince’s manner of 
living and of the police of the Spanish 
Ambassador. This report was dated at 
two o’clock at night. 

“ To-day, the Regent rose late : he 
supped in the little room. Madam 
d’Averne as dsted for the first time, re- 
placing Madam de Parabere. The 
other women were the Duchesses of 
Til laris and Saleri maids of honor of 
Madam. The men were the Marquis, 
de Broglie, Count de Noce, Marquis de 
Can iliac, Duke de Brancas and the 
Chevalier de Simiane. As for the 
Marquis de Lafare and M. de Fargy, 
the}’ are confined to their bed by an in- 
disposition the cause of which we are 
ignorant. 

“ At mid-day the council took place. 
The Regent communicated to the Duke 
du Maine, Prince Conti, the Duke of 
Saint Simon, the Duke of Guiche, etc., 
the project of the Treaty of the Qua- 
druple. Alliance, for which he had sent 
the Abbe Dubois, announcing his return 

in three or four davs, 

%/ 

“ The rest of the day is given entirely 
to the paternit 3 \ Two days ago, M. le 


36 


THE ORAXGE PLUME ; OR, 


Regent married a girl he had taken from 
la Desmarets, and who had been educat- 
ed with the Religieuses Saint Denis. 
She dined with her husband at the 
Palais Royal, and after dinner, M. le 
Regent took her to the Opera in the box 
of Madame Charlotte of Bavaria. La 
Desmarets, who had not seen her child 
for six years, is warned that if she 
wishes to see her, she can come to the 
theatre. 

“ M. le Regent, despite his caprice for 
Madame d’Averne, still pays attention to 
the Marchioness de Sab ran. The Mar- 
chioness still prides herself upon faith- 
fulness, not to her husband, but to the 
Duke of Richelieu. To advance his af- 
fairs, M. le Regent has appointed M. de 
Sabran his steward.” 

I hope that the work is well done,” 
said the Abbe Brigand, when the chev- 
alier finished the report. 

Yes, by my faith ! my dear Abbe,” 
responded d’Harmental ; ‘‘but if the 
Regent does not give us in future better 
occasions of executing our design, it 
vfill not be easy to conduct him to 
Spain.” 

“ Patience ! patience !” said Brigand ; 
“ there is time for it all. The Regent 
offers us an occasion by which we may 
profit by removing.” 

The removing was not long nor dif- 
ficult ; d’Harmental took his watch, 
some livres, the package which contain- 
ed his wardrobe, entered a carriage, and 
vrent off, saying he was going to the 
country and should be absent ten or 
twelve days, and that they need not be 
uneasy about him ; then, having ex- 
changed his elegant apparel for those 
which suited the part he was to^ play, 
he went, led by the Abbe Brigand, to 
take possession of his new lodging. 

It was a chamber, or rather an attic 
with a closet, situated on the fourth 
story. No. 5 rue du Temps-perdu, which 
is to-day the rue Saint Joseph. The 
proprietor of the house was an acquaint- 
ance of the Abbe Brigand : so, thanks 
to his recommendations, the young 
provincial found there some extraordin- 
ary additions : he found the curtains of 
erfect whiteness, the linen of extreme 
neness, a library well stocked, and all 
was so complete, that, at the first glance. 


if it was not so well as his apartment of 
the rue Richelieu, he was at least in a 
tolerable place. 

Madame Denis, that was the name of 
the abbe’s friend, waited on her lodger 
to do herself the honors of his chamber ; 
she boasted all the advantages, assured 
him that noise should not disturb his 
study, certified that her house was one 
of the best in the quartier, said that as 
the street was so very narrow that two 
vehicles could not pass, abreast, it was 
very rare that coaches hazarded ; all 
these things the chevalier replied to in 
so modest a manner, that on redescend 
ing to the first floor which she inhabited, 
Madam Denis recommended to the 
porter and his wife the greatest respect 
for the new comer. 

The young man, though he certainly 
could not contend in looks with the 
handsome lords of the court, appeared 
far from having, especially with respect 
to females, the bold and rakish manners 
which the fops of that period believed 
to be fashionable to affect. It is true 
that the abbe, in the name of the fam- 
ily of his pupil, had paid a quarter in 
advance. 

An instant afterwards, the abbe des- 
cended to Madam Denis, w^hom he edi- 
fied upon the treatment of his young 
protege^ who, he said, would receive ab- 
solutely no one but him and an old 
friend of his father. This latter, not- 
withstanding his manners a little rough 
which he had taken in the camps, was a 
very worthy noble. D’Harmental be- 
lieved it his duty to use this precaution 
that the appearance of the captain might 
not frighten Madame Denis too much 
in case she should meet him. 

Remaining alone, the chevalier, who 
had already made the inventory of his 
chamber, resolved, to distract himself, 
to make that of the neighborhood ; he 
opened his window, and began the in- 
spection of all the objects which the 
streets contained. 

He was convinced at first of the truth 
of Madam Denis’s observation relative 
to the street; it was hardly ten or 
twelve feet wide, and, from the chev- 
alier’s elevated position, it appeared still 
narrower ; this narrowness, which for 
any other locality would doubtless have 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE 


37 


been a defect, appeared to him on the 
contrary a good quality, for lie instantly 
calculated that in case he was pursued, 
by the aid of a plank laid across from 
his window to the opposite one, he 
could pass to the other side of the 
street. It was important to establish, 
at all events, a thorough acquaintance 
with the location of the house. 

Unfortunately the neighbor appeared 
little disposed to sociability ; not only 
was the window hermetically closed 
as comported with the epoch of the 
year of which we write, but the mus- 
lin curtains which hung behind the 
glass were so exactly placed that they 
did not present the smallest opening 
by which a look could penetrate. A 
second window, which appeared to ap- 
pertain to the same chamber, was 
closed with like precision. 

More favored than that of Madam 
Denis, the opposite house bad a fifth 
floor or rather a terrace. A last attic 
chamber, just above the window so her- 
metically closed, looked upon this ter- 
race : it was, in all probability, the res- 
idence of a distinguished agriculturist, 
for it had become, by force of patience, 
time and labor, a sort of garden, which 
contained, within the space of twelve or 
fifteen feet square, a jet (Teau^ a grotto, 
and an arbor. It is true that the jet 
had but the aid of a reservoir filled in 
winter by rain, and in summer by him- 
self ; it is equally true that the grotto, 
all garnished with shells and surmount- 
ed by a little fortress of wood, appeared 
destined to shelter not a human being, 
but an individual of the canine race ; it 
is true, in fine, that the arbor, entirely 
despoiled by the violence of winter, of 
the foliage which makes the principal 
charm, resembled at the moment an 
immense chicken coop. 

D Harmental admired the active in- 
dustry of the Parisians who create a 
country upon a window-ledge, in the 
corner of a roof and on the gutter. 
He murmured Virgil’s famous line ; 

Ofo7'tunatus nimiumj’ and then the 
breeze being somewhat cool, as he per- 
ceived that it was a monotonous view 
of roofs, chimnies and weather-cock, he 
closed his window, wrapped himself 
up in a morning gown, which had the 


fault of being a little too comfortable for 
the present situation of its master, 
seated himself upon an arm-chair, 
stretched out his legs, extended his hand 
to a volume of the Abbe de Chaulieu, 
and read, to distract himself, th e verses 
addressed to Mademoiselle de Launay, of 
whom he had heard the Marquis de 
Pompadour speak, and which acquired 
for him a new interest since he knew the 
heroine. , 

The result of this reading was that 
the chevalier, while smiling upon the 
octogenarian love of the abbe, perceived 
that, more unfortunate than him, per- 
haps, he had a heart perfectly void. 
His youth, his courage, his elegance, 
his bold and adventurous spirit should 
have earned for him the finest fortunes ; 
but all his connections with females had 
been ephemeral. For an instant he be- 
lieved he loved Madam d’ Averne and 
was loved by her, but the inconstant 
could not hold against a basket of flow- 
ers and jewels, and against the vanity 
of pleasing the Regent. Before that 
infidelity had been made known the 
chevalier had believed that he should be 
in despair at that unfaithfulness ; it had 
taken place ; he had at last perceived 
the place which the love had filled when 
he believed that it had entirely occu- 
pied his heart. It is true that the last 
three or four days had brought events 
which had necessarily led his mind to 
other thoughts, but the chevalier could 
not persuade himself that he really 
loved. A great despair had permitted 
him to go to the masked ball, when inci- 
dents seemed to succeed in a manner so 
rapid and unexpected that he could not 
avoid them. The result of all this was 
that the chevalier was convinced that he 
was perfectly incapable of a great pas- 
sion, and that he was only destined to 
be culpable towards the charming girls 
who flocked around a young noble. 
Consequently, he rose, made two or 
three tours of his chamber with a con- 
quering air, uttered a deep sigh, and re- 
turned with slow steps from the window 
to the chair. 

During this passage, he perceived 
that the window facing his, an hour be- 
fore so firmly shut, was now opened. 
He stopped mechanically, drew aside 


38 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


the curtain, and plunged his eye into 
the apartment which was thus free to 
investigation. 

It was a room, judging from all ap- 
pearances, occupied by one woman. 
Near the window sill a charming little 
greyhound was crouched, curiously re- 
garding the street. In front of the win- 
dow an open harpsichord rested with 
two harmonicons. Some pastels, en- 
closed within dark wood frames relieved 
by a little thread of gold, were hung 
upon the walls, hung with Persian pa- 
per, and curtains of the same design as 
the paper fell behind the other curtains 
so scrupulously applied to the other 
panes. Through a second window half 
opened, one perceived the curtains of an 
alcove which probably contained abed. 
The rest of the furniture was perfectl}^ 
simple, but in charming harmony, which 
was evidently due, not to the wealth, 
but to the taste of the modest inhabit- 
ant of the little retreat. 

An old woman, swept, brushed and 
arranged articles, profiting by the ab- 
sence of the mistress of the lodging; 
for one could only see her in the rooms 
and it was evident that she was not the 
occupant of the chamber. 

Suddenly the greyhound’s countenance, 
until then his large eyes having wan- 
dered on all sides with the aristocratic 
carelessness peculiar to that animal, ap- 
peared to brighten up ; it leaned its 
head into the street, then, with a mirac- 
ulous skill and lightness, it leaped to 
the ledge of the window, and seated 
itself there, pricking its ears, and hold- 
ing one paw forward. The chevalier 
oompreheuded by the signs that the ten- 
ant of the little chamber approached, 
he instantly threw up his window. Un- 
fortunately, he was too late, the street 
was deserted. At the same moment the 
dog leaped into the apartment and ran 
to the door. D’Harmental argued that 
the lodger was mounting the stairs, and 
to see her more at his ease he threw 
himself back and concealed himself in 
the curtain ; but the old woman came 
to the window, and shut it. The cheva- 
lier had not expected such an act, so he 
was the more disappointed ; he closed 
his window, and returned to extend his 
feet upon the footstools. 


Such a movement was not very dis- 
tracting, and the chevalier felt that he 
had lost all the little things with which 
society besprinkles the life of a man of 
the world, by taking such a retreat. 
He remembered that he had often play 
ed a harpsichord or sketched at such 
times, and it seemed that if he had some 
crayons, he rnighl pass the time patient- 
ly. He rung for the porter and asked 
if he could procure such objects. The 
porter replied that such articles were 
naturally at the lodger’s cost, and that if 
he wished a harpsichord, he had one to 
let ; that as for the crayons, they could 
be obtained at the stationer’s shop at 
the corner of the rue Clery and the rue 
du Gros-Chenet. D’Hannental gave a 
double louis to the porter, and said that 
in a quarter of an hour he desired all 
the irn [dements for drawing. The 
double louis was an argument the effica- 
cy of which the chevalier had felt more 
than once. A half hour after, he was 
in the possession of the required objects, 
for Paris is a wonderful city where any- 
thing can be obtained by all enchanters 
with a golden wand. 

The porter, on descending, saiJ to his 
wife .that if the young man on the 
fourth floor did not lo(dc more to his 
money, he would ruin his family ; and 
he showed her the two crow'ns he had 
economized from the double louis of the 
chevalier. The woman took the two 
crowns from her husband’s hands, called 
him a drunkard, and placed them in a 
bag under a heap of old clothes, deplor- 
ing the condiiion of fathers and moth- 
ers who do not know how 1o take care 
of their sons. 

This was the funeral oration upon the 
chevalier’s double-louis. 


CHAPTER X. 

A CITIZEN OF THE RUE TEMPS-PERDU. 

During this time, d’Harmental had 
been timing his harpsichord, which was 
tqlerably good ; he began to believe ho 
had a genius for music, and that all that 
was wanted till then was a circumstance 
to develop it. Wiiliout doubt there was 


I 


TITK Bill OF. OF THE BASTILE. 


39 


some truth at the bottom of it all, f«»r, 
in the midst of a mo>t seducing* trill, he 
saw, on the other side of the street, live 
little fingers which delicately raised the 
curtain to see from whence came this un- 
usual harmony. Unfortunately, at tln^ 
sight of the little fingers, the clievalier 
forgot his music, a)id turned quickly on 
his st ol i.: tlie hope of perceiving a 
fbimi behind the hand. Tliis ill calcu- 
lated movement caused his defeat. The 
mistress of the little chamber, caught in 
‘flagrante delicto’ of curiosity, let fall 
the curtain. D’llarinental, wounded at 
this coyness, went to close his v/indow, 
and remained all the rest of the day on 
the watch for his neighbor. 

The evening passed in designing, read- 
ing, and playing upon the harpsichord. 
The chevalier could not believe that 
there were so many minutes in an hour, 
and so many hours in the day. At ten 
o’clock at night, he rang for the port r 
that he might give him his orders lor the 
next day. But the porter did not an- 
swer ; 1)0 had been asleep for a long 
time. Mada^i Deiiis had said truly : 
her house was a quiet one. D’llarmen- 
t:d then fell to thiidving upon the strange- 
ness of there being people who knew 
neither the Opera nor the little suppers, 
and who slept in the night and worked in 
the day.' He thought of what amuse- 
ment it would be to bis friends when he 
should recount to them such a singulari- 

ty. 

There was one thing which pleased 
him, that was that his neighbor wa died 
like him: that indicated in her a supe- 
rior mind to those of the vulgar inhabit- 
ants of the rue Temps-perdu. D’Har- 
mental believed that one kept awake but 
because they were not inclined to sleep 
or because they wished to be amused. 
He forgot those who Seep awake be- 
cause they can not do otherwise. 

At midnight, thebghtof the opposite 
chamber was extinguished, and D’Har- 
mental in his tui:n dec ded to repose. 

The next day at eight o’clock, the 
Abbe Brigand came to him ; he pre- 
sented to DTTarmental the second re- 
port of Prince Cellamai'e’s secret police ; 
it was conceived in these terms : 

“ Three o’clock of the morning. 

“]\L le Regent last evening gave the 


onler for him to be awoke at eight 
o’clock. 

“ At ten o’clock he will have public 
audience. 

“ PTom midday to one o’clock, M. le 
Rt‘g(mt overlooks the spy reports with 
La VT*illiere and Leblanc. 

“ Ph-om one to two o’clock he opens 
letters with Torey. 

“ At half past two, he goes to the 
Council of the Regency and visits the 
King. 

“ At three o’clock he goes to tlie 
tennis court rue de Seine to play with 
Brancas and Caiiillac a game against 
the Duke de Richelieu, the Marquis, de 
Broglie, and Count Gace. 

“As six o’clock he will sup with 
Madam the Duchess de Beny, where 
lie passes the evening. 

‘‘ Ph*om there he will return without 
rjisarch'lo the Palais Royal, unless the 
Duchess de Berry gives him an escort 
of her own.” 

“ The plague ! without guards^ my 
de r abbe, what do you think of that?” 
said D’Harmenlal arranging his appar- 
rel. “Is not that the water which 
comes to the mouth ?” 

“ Without guards,” replied the abbe; 

“ but with couriers, outriders, a coach- 
man, all men who fight very little 
it is true, but who cry out very loud. 
01) ! pa'ience, my young friend ! You 
are very eager to be grandee of Spain.” 

“No, my dear abbe, but I am eager 
to leave this attic where I am forced to 
make my toilette alone, as you see. 
You think it is nothing to lie down at^ 
ten o’clock and dress yourself without 
a valet in the morning ?” 

“ Yes, but you have music,” resumed 
the abbe. 

“ Not bad !” returned d'Harmcntal, 

“ indeed, it is quite the contrary ; h is 
the Arrnide, pardieu ! The devil carry 
me off if 1 believed I could find that on 
a fourth floor and in the rue du Temps- 
perdu !” 

“ Chevalier, I predict one thing,” said 
the abbe : “that is that if the singer is 
young and pretty, we shall be eight 
days before you will leave here.” 

“My dear abbe,” responded d’Har- 
mental shaking his head, “ if your po- 
lice had done as well as that of Prinoo 


40 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


Cellamare, you would have known that 
lam wearied of love long ago ; and the 
proof is here : do not think that 1 pass 
my days in sighing; I beg you then, 
on descending, to send me up something 
like a pasty and a dozen bottles of ex- 
cellent wines. I know you are a good 
judge ; besides, sent by you, they bear 
witness of a tutor’s attention ; bought 
by me, they prove a rakish pupil, and 1 
have my reputation to guard at Madam 
Denis’s place.” 

“ That is just : I do not ask you why, 
1 shall send them.” 

And you are right, my dear abbe ; 
it is for the good of the cause.” 

In an hour, the pasty and the wine 
shall be here.” 

“ When will you return ?” 

“ To-morrow probably.” 

So then, to-morrow.” 

You wish to see me ?” 

‘‘ I expect some one.” 

Always for the good cause.” 

I say yes. Go, and God guard 
you !” 

** Remain, and may the devil not 
tempt you ! Recollect that it was for 
a woman we were driven from Paradise. 
Mistrust women.” 

Amen !” said the chevalier, making 
a last sign with his hand to the Abbe 
Brigand. 

In fact, as the abbe had remarked, 
d’Harmental was in haste for him to go. 
Plis great love for music, which he had 
discovered the evening before, had made 
such progress that he wished nothing to 
lead him from it. As well as the al- 
ways closed window would permit, the 
sounds which came to the chevalier, as 
well the voice as the instrument, re- 
vealed in his neighbor, an excellent mu- 
sician; the voice was soft and had in its 
highest chords those deep vibrations 
which thrill to the heart. So, after a 
difficult but well executed passage, 
d’Harmental could not avoid clapping 
his hands and crying bravo. Unfortu 
nately, this exultation to which, in that 
solitude, she was not habituated, instead 
of encouraging the musician, the instru- 
ment and voice stopped instantly, and 
.*<1161106 immediately succeeded the me- ; 
lody for which the chevalier had so im- < 
prudently manifested his enthusiasm. ’ 


In exchange, he saw the door, of the 
chamber, which, as we have said, looked 
upon the roof, open. He saw first a 
hand extended to interrogate the 
weather. This being assuring, in all 
likelihood, the hand was followed by 
a head enclosed within an Indian cap 
tied at the brow by a ribbon of pigeon’s- 
neck silk, and the head preceded but 
by a few instants a body covered with a 

sort of mornin"-20wn of the same stuff 
1 ^ ® 
as the cap. 

There was not enough seen yet for 
the chevalier to recognise precisely the 
sex of this individual who came to take 
morning air. Finally a ray of the sun 
gliding between two clouds, encouraged, 
it appeared, the timid lodger of the ter- 
race, who determined to come wholly 
out. d’Harmental recognised then, by 
his short black velvet breeches and his 
silk stockings, ■ that the person was of 
the masculine sex. 

It was the horticulturist of whom we 
have spoken. 

The bad weather of the preceding 
days had doubtless deprived him of his 
morning promenade and bad prevented 
his giving to his garden its accustomed 
cares, for he visibly began to regard it 
to find if some accident had been pro- 
duced by wind or rain ; but after a 
brief visit to the jet, the grotto and the 
arbor, which were the three principal 
ornaments, the face of the horticulturist 
gleamed with a ray of joy as the garden 
did in the sunbeams. He perceived 
that not only was everything in its 
place, but that the reservoir was full to 
overflowing. He turned a cock and the 
water spouted majestically to the height 
of four or five feet. 

The good man was so joyful that he 
began to sing the refrain of an -old pas- 
toral, which ever repeated ; 

‘•Let me go, 

“ Let me go play ! 

“ Let me go play under the hazel-wood.'^ 

He ran to the window and called 
twice in a loud voice. 

“ Bathilde ! Bathilde !” 

The chevalier then comprehended that 
there was a communication between the 
rooms of the fourth and fifth stories, and 
a relation between the horticulturist Jind 
the musician. But as he thought that. 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


41 


seeing the modesty of which she had 
given a proof, the musician, if he re- 
mained at the window, would not mount 
to the terrace, he i-e-closed his window 
with an air of perfect carelessness taking 
care to leave a little aperture in the cur- 
tain through which he could see without 
being seen. 

That which he foresaw happened. At 
tlie end of an instant, the charming head 
of a young girl appeared within the 
encasement of the window, but no 
doubt as the earth was too damp, she 
would not gQ farther. The little dog 
not less fearful than its mistress, re- 
mained by her, its white paws placed 
upon the window-sill, and shaking its 
head in sign of negation to all the calls 
which were made to attract it from 
where its' mistress stood. 

Then there was a dialogue between 
the good man and the young girl. 
D’Harmental thus had leisure to ex- 
amine her, though his window being shut 
prevented his hearing. / 

She appeared to have arrived at that 
delicious age of life when the woman, 
passing from infancy to youth, feels all 
flowering in her heart and upon her face, 
sentiment, grace and beauty. At the 
first glance, one could see that she was 
not less than sixteen years nor more 
than eighteen. There existed in her a 
singular medley of two races ; she had 
light hair, the tint of the English, with 
the black eyes, coral lips and pearly 
teeth of the Spanish. As she was 
neither red nor white, and as at that 
time powder commenced to be the 
fashion, and besides was reserved for 
aristocratic heads, her color was of its 
proper freshness, and nothing sullied the 
delicate shades of her hair. The chev- 
alier remained in ecstasy. In fact, he 
had seen in his life but two kind of wo- 
men : the great fat peasants of the 
Nivernais, with their large feet and 
hands, and their short petticoats ; and 
the women of the Parisian aristocracy, 
fine without doubt, but of that beauty 
faded by nights, by pleasures, and by 
that transplanting ot flowers to the hot- 
house, where they bloom, it is true, but 
not as they did in free air and the sun 
of the country. 

He had not known this class, this in- 


termediate type, if one may say so, be- 
tween the highest society and the popu- 
lation of the country, who have all the 
elegance of the one and the fresh health- 
iness of the other. So, as we have said, 
he was rooted to the spot long after the 
young girl had gone, with his eyes fixed 
upon the place where he had seen so deli- 
cious a vision appear. 

The sound of his door opening put an 
end to his entrancement : it was the 
pastry and wine of the Abbe Brigaud 
which made their entrance into the cheva- 
lier’s attic. The sight of these provis- 
ions recalled to him that he had for the 
moment something else than to deliver^ 
hj^iself up to a contemplative life, and 
that he had given, for business of the 
greatest importance, an appointment 
with Captain Roquefinette. Consequent- 
ly he drew out his watch and saw that it 
was ten o’clock of the morning. This 
was the hour agreed upon. He ordered 
the porter to deposit the eatables upon 
the table, charged himself with the rest 
of the service, that the porter should not 
be able to meddle with his little affairs, 
and, opening the window again, he placed 
himself to watch for Captain Roquefin- 
ette. 


CHAPTER XL 

THE BOND. 

He was scarcely at his post ere he 
perceived the worthy captain turning 
from the rue du Gros-Chenet, his nose 
in the air, his hand on his hip, and with 
the martial and decided step of a man 
who, like the Greek philsopher, felt that 
he bore all with him. His hat, a ther- 
mometer by which his familiars could 
tell the secret state of its master’s finan- 
ces, and which in days of good fortune 
was placed as squarely and upright upon 
his head as a pyramid is upon its base, 
his hat had retaken that miraculous in- 
clination which had so struck the Baron 
de Valef, and by which one of the three 
corners touched his right shoulder, while 
the parallel corners would have given 
to Franklin forty years sooner, if Frank- 
lin had met the caotain, the first idea 


42 


THE ORANGE TLUME ; OR, 


of the lightning-rod. On reaching the 
third p irt of the ^<treet, he raised his 
head, as had been agreed upon, and just 
above him he remarked the chevalier. 

The latter awaited him without ex- 
changing a sign, and the captain, having 
calculated the distance, with a strataget- 
ic eye and recognised the dour which 
corresponded to the window, crossed the 
threshold of Madame Denis’s peaceable 
house with the same air of familiarity 
as if 't were a tavern. The chevalier, 
on his side, let down his window and 
drew the curtains too after him with the 
greatest care. Was it because he did 
not wish 'his pretty neighbor to see him 
with the captain ? Was it because he 
did not w.sh the captain to see her? 

At the end of an instant, d’Harmen- 
tal heard the captain’s steps, and the 
clash of his sword, the illustrious Col- 
ichernarde, which beat against the ban- 
nisters. Arrived at the third landing, 
wdiere the light which came fi-om below 
w'as dim, the captain found himself em- 
barrassed, not knowing whether to stop 
or to go on. So, after having coughed 
in the most significant manner, seeing 
that these appeals remained misunder- 
stood by him he was searching for : 

S’death !” said he, “ Chevalier, as 
you did not probably send for me to 
break my neck, open the d )or or sing, 
that 1 may be guided by the light of hea- 
ven, or by the sound of your voice. 
Otherwise 1 am lost, neither more nor 
less than Theseus in the labyrinth.” 

And the captain began to sing loudly ; 

“ Fair Ariadne, do, I beseech you 
Give me a clue ! 

Tonton, tonton, tontaine, tonton!” 

The chevalier ran to the door and 
opened it. 

In good time,” said the captain, 
whose form appeared indistinct in the 
demi-obscurity. “The ladder to your 
pigeon-hole is as black • as the ace of 
clubs. But at last I am here, faithful to 
the watchword, true to the post, exact 
to the rendezvous. Ten o’clock sounded 
at the Samaritan just as I passed the 
Pont Ncuf.” 

“ Yes, you are a man of your word 
I vsee,” said the chcvali('r, extending his 
hand to the captain : “ but enter quick- 


ly, it is important that my neighbors 
^•hould not pay attention to you.” 

“ In that case, I am as mute as a pike,” 
responded the captain. “ Besides,” said 
he pointing to the pasty and bottles cov- 
ering the table, “you have guessed the 
true way of closing my mouth.” 

The chevalier closed and bolted the 
door behind the captain. 

“ Ah ! ah ! mysteries. All the better ! 
I’m the man for mysteries: There is al- 
ways something to be gained with men 
who begin by saying : ‘chut!’ In all 
cases, you cannot do better than address 
yourself to your servant,’’ continued the 
captain, returning to his mythological 
language : “ you see in me the grandson 
of ilarpocrates, god of silence. So do 
not disturb yourself.” 

“ That is well, Captain,” resumed d’- 
Harmental, “ for I avow' that I have im- 
portant things to say to you w'hich must 
claim your discretion in advance.” 

“ It is granted, Chevalier. While I 
gave a lesson to little Ravanne, I saw' 
you handle 3mur sword splendidly, and I 
admire brave men. And then, in thank- 
ing me for a little service not w’orth a 
fillip, you gave me a horse worth a hun- 
dred louis, and I admire generous men. 
Now', since you are twice my man, what 
can I do to be once yours?” 

“ Come,” said the chevalier, “ I see 
w'e shall understand each other.” 

“ Speak and 1 listen,” said the captain, 
assuming his most grave air. 

“You will listen to me better seated, 
my dear guest; let us breakfast.” 

“You speak like Saint John of the 
Golden Mouth, Chevalier,” said the cap- 
tain, unclasping his sword and placing 
it with his hat near the harpischord; 

“ in such a way,” continued he seating 
himself in front of d’llarmental, “ that 
one must be of the same idea as you. 
See me: command the manoeuvre and I 
will execute it.” 

“ Taste that wine while I attack the 
pasty.” 

“ That is just,” said the captain : “ di- 
vide our forces and defeat the enemy 
sepai’titMy, then w^e will unite to exter- 
minate those remaining.” 

And, joining practice to the theory, the 
captain seized the nearest bottle, un- 
corked it, and pouring out a full 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


43 


bumper, h(‘ swallowed it with sucii 
facility that one w'ould believe 
that nature had furnished him with a 
mode of deglutition entirely his own. 
But, to render him justice, scarcely had 
lie drank the wine than he perceived 
that the liquor he had quaffed so cav- 
alierly merited a degree of attention 
very superior to that which he liad ac- 
corded it. 

‘‘Oh! oiiT’ said he, smacking his 
lips, and depositing his glass with a 
slowness full of respect upon the table, 
“ what have 1 done ? unworthy that 1 
am ! 1 have drank nectar as if it wen* 

pickette ! and that at the commence- 
ment of a meal: Ah I” continued he, 
pouring out a second glass from the 
same bottle and shaking his head, “ Ro- 
quefinette, my friend, you are growing- 
old. If you had that ten years ago, at 
the first drop which touched your palate, 
you w'ould have knowm wdth what you 
had to do while now y(»u must make 
many attempts to appreciate the value 
of things. To your health, Chev- 
alier !” 

And this time the captain, moi e cir- 
cumspect, slowly swallowed his second 
glass, taking three draughts to empty 
it, and winking his eye in sign of satis 
faction; then, when he had finished:- 

“That is the Hermitage of 1702, the 
year of the battle of Friedlingen ! IT 
your purveyor has more ot ihat and 
credits, give me his address : 1 will 
promise to be a steady customer.” 

“Captain,” replied the chevalier, fill- 
ing his guest’s plate wdth an enormous 
slice of the pasty, “ not only does my 
purveyor give credit, but he gives it to 
my friends for nothing.” 

“ Oh ! the honest man !” cried the 
captain in a penetrating tone. And, af- 
ter an instant’s silence, during which a 
superficial observer would have thought 
him absorbed in the appreciation of the 
pasty *as he was an instant before in 
that of the wine, placing his two (dhows 
upon the table, and regarding d’Har- 
nn jital with :i mockinir air b( tween his 

o 

knife and fork : 

. “So, then, my dear Chevalier,” said 
he, “ we consqiire and we have need to 
succeed, it appears, so' that this [>oor 
Captain Roqn(‘fii'('t must give a lielj)- 
ing hand.’' 


“ And what do you say, Captain?” 
interrupted the chevalier, shuddering 
despite himself. 

“ What do I say ? pardieu ! a fine 
charade to be guessed. A man who 
gives horses of a hundred louis value, 
drinks for ordinary wine that 'at a pis- 
tole the bottle, and who lodges in an 
attic of the rue Temps-perdu, what the 
deuce could he do but conspire ?” 

“ Well ! Captain,” said d’ Ha r mental 
laughing', “1 shall not play the dis- 
creet ; you can see that well enough. 
Hoes a conspiracy frighten you?” con- 
tinued he pouring (;ut a glass for his 
guest. . . 

“I, L frightened ? Who is i t says 
there is a thing in the world Captain 
Roquefinette fears ?” 

“ It is not 1, Captain, since without 
knowing you, at the first sight, at the 
first words exchanged, 1 had thrown my 
eyes upon you to offer you to be my 
second.” 

“ Ah ! that is to say that if you are 
hung on a gibbet twenty feet higli, they 
will tuck me up one on only ten feet high: 
tbafs all I” 

“ The fiend 1 Captain,” said d’Har- 
mental, turning out another glass, “if 
one begins thus, as you. do, by making 
ugly pictures of the wrong side, one 
would never undertake anything.” 

“ Because 1 spoke of the gallows, fim 
sooth?” replied the captain. “But 
that proves nothing. What is a gibbet 
in a philosopher’s eyes? One of 
the many ways of departing life, and 
certainly one of the most disagreeable. 
One sees that because you cannot look 
one in th(i face, without feeling disgust. 
Besides, on our trial it may be decapita- 
ti(m like M. de Rohan. Did you see 
them chop M. de Rohan’s neck?’^ re- 
sumed the captain, looking straight at 
d’Harmental’s face. “He was a fine 
young man like you, and nearly your 
age. He plotted, as you -would (3o, but 
the thing missed. What would you! 
every one is deceived. They put him 
on a fine black scaffold ; they jarmitted 
him to turn Ho the window where was 
h s mistress; they cut with scissors the 
collar of his 'shirt and his hair. But 
Jack Keich was a new hand, used to 
hanging ami not fit for a headsman ; so 


44 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


he had to make three or four cljops to 
to take off the head ; and even that 
would not do, so he took out his knife 
and cut it so well that he finally detach- 
ed it Come, you are a brave man !” 

continued the captain, seeing that the 
chevalier had heard without wincing the 
details of that horrible execution. “Touch 
that, I’m your man ! Against whom 
do you conspire ? See, is it against the 
Duke du Maine ? M. le Duke of Or- 
leans? Must I break the other leg of 
the cripple ? Must I blind the other eye 
of the other ?” 

“ Nothing of the sort. Captain ; and, 
if so it pleases God, no blood will be 
shed.” 

“ For who are we acting then ?” 

“ Have you ever heard of the ab- 
duction of the secretary of the Duke of 
Mantua ?” 

“ Of Matthioli?” 

“Yes.” 

“ ’Sblcod ! I know the affair as well 
as any one, I saw him pass as they led 
him to Pignerol ; it w^as the Chevalier 
de Saint Martin and M. de Villebois 
who made the stroke; they had each 
man three thousand livres for them- 
selves and their men.” 

“ That is rather poor pay,” said 
d’Harmental scornfully. 

“ So you find it, Chevalier ? Three 
thousand livres though is a pretty sum.” 

“ Then, for three thousand livres, you 
would charge yourself with the thing ?” 

“I would,” responded the captain. 

“ But if, instead of abducting the se- 
cretary, it was proposed for you to 
carry off the duke ?” 

“ Then, that would be dearer.” 

“ But you would accept it the 
same ?”* 

“ Why not ? I should ask double, 
that’s all !” 

“ And if in giving you double, a man 
like me should say : ‘ Captain, it is not 
for an obscure danger I wish your serv- 
ices, it is a struggle in which 1 am en- 
gaged like you, where I endanger like 
you my head, my name, my future,’ 
what would you reply to that man ?” 

“ I should give him my hand as I give 
it to you. Now, for what do we act ?” 

The chevalier filled his glass and that 
of the captain. 


“To the Regent’s health,” said he, 
“ and may he arrive without accident at 
the frontier of Spain, as Matthioli reach- 
ed Pignerol !” 

“ Ah ! ah !” said Captain Roquefinette, 
raising his glass to the level of his eye. 
Then after a pause ; “ And why not ?” 
continued he. “ The Regent is but a 
man after all. Only we shall not be 
hung nor decapitated : we will be broke 
on the wheel. Any other than I would 
say it was dearer, but for you, Chevalier, 
I have not two prices. Yoa will give 
me six thousand livres and 1 will find 
you twelve resolute men.” 

“ But these twelve resolute men,” 
quickly Inquired the chevalier, “ can 
they be trusted ?” 

“ They will believe they are acting 
for a wager, that is all.” 

“ And I, Captain,” said d’Harmental, 
open ng a secretary and taking out a 
bag of a thousand pistoles, “ 1 wish to 
prove to you that 1 do not bargain with 
friends. Here are two thousand livres 
in gold, take them all if we succeed ; if 
we are baffled each one take his share.” 

“Chevalier,” responded the -captain 
taking the bag, and weighing it upon 
his hand with undisguised satisfaction, 
“ you comprehend that 1 would not in- 
sult you by counting before you. And 
when is this affair to take place ?” 

“ I do not know yet, my dear Captain, 
but if you have found the pasty sup- 
portable, and the wine good, and if you 
will do me the honor of breakfasting 
with me every day, as you have done 
this morning, 1 can tell at the time.” 

“ There is no more of that, my dear 
Chevalier,” said the captain, “ and for 
the moment, it is finished in laughter. 
1 could not come here for more than 
three days following each other, than 
the police of that damned d’Argenson 
would be at our heels. Luckily it is a 
long while since we have played at catch- 
who-can together. No, no, Chevalier, 
we must be seen as little as possible, or 
rather we must not be seen at ail. 
Your street is not long, and as it has on 
one side the rue du Gros-Chenet, and on 
the other the rue Montmatre, 1 have no 
need to go through it. Hold,” contin- 
ued he, detaching his shoulder knot, 
'“ take this ribbon. The day I must 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


45 


come tie this to a nail outside your 
window. I will know what it says and 
I will come up.’^ 

‘‘ What, Captain,” said d’Harrnental, 
seeing his guest rise and buckle on his 
sword, ‘‘ you are going without finish- 
ing your bottle ! What is the matter 
with the wine, which you judged so well 
of an hour ago, and which you have the 
air of scorning now 

‘‘ It is just b^ecause I do appreciate it 
that I separate from it now, and the 
proof that I do not scorn it,” said he, 
filling a glass, “is that I wish it farewell. 
Your health, Chevalier ! You can boast 
of having your fine wine — hum ! And 
now, glug, glug, glug, it is finished. I 
drink water till the day after the one 
the red ribbpn floats from the window. 
Make it as quick as possible, for water 
is a liquid which is devilish contrary to 
my constitution.” 

“ But why do you go so quickly ?” 

“Because I know Captain Roquefi- 
nette. He is a good child ; but when he 
finds a bottle before him, he must drink, 
and when he drinks, he must speak. So, 
no matter how well one speaks, he 
should reccolect this : When one speaks 
too much, he generally commits some 
folly. Farewell, Chevalier, do not for- 
get the ribbon.” 

“ Farewell, captain,” said d’Harmen- 
tal ; “ I see with pleasure that 1 have no 
need of recommending discretion.” 

The captain with his right hand thumb 
made a sign of the cross upon his 
mouth, placed his hat firmly upon his 
head, held up the illustrious Colichem- 
arde for fear that it might strike^the 
bannisters, and descended the staircase aa 
silently as if he feared that his steps 
would throw an echo into the office of 
messire Voyer d’Argenson. 


CHAPTER XII. 

S E E - S A W. 

The Chevalier remained alone, but 
this time what had passed between him 
and the captain afforded him so vast a 
matter of reflection that to occupy his 
time he had no need of the poetry of 


the Abbe Chaulieu, nor his harpsichord, 
nor his drawings. In fact, until then 
the chevalier had been but half enga- 
ged in the hazardous enterprize of which 
the Duchess du Maine and Prince Cella- 
rnare had shown him the Imppy issue, 
and of which the captain, to test his cour-» 
age, had discovered so brutally the 
bloody peripetia. Until then, he had 
been at the extremity of a chain. By 
pulling on one side he was disengaged. 
Now he had become an intermediary 
link riveted on both side •, and on one' 
part attached to the highest society, and 
on the other the lowest. In fine, fiorn 
that hour, he was as the Alpine travel- 
er lost in his way, stopped in the mid- 
dle of an unknown road, and measur- 
ing for the first time the mountain 
which hangs above his head and the 
abyss which yawns at his feet. 

Luckily the chevalier had that calm 
courage, of a cool and resolute man in 
whom the blood and the bile, those two 
contrary forces, instead of neutralizing, 
excited by combatting. He entered 
danger with all the rapidity of a san- 
guine man, and once engaged in that 
danger he met it with all the firmness 
and resolution of the least choleric 
man. It resulted that the chevalier 
was as dangerous a man in a duel as in 
a conspiracy ; for, in a duel his calmness 
permitted him to profit by the least fault 
of his adversary, and in a conspiracy 
his coolness served him in avoiding, and 
often breaking, the imperceptible threads 
which often overthrow the highest enter- 
prises. Madam du Maine did right in 
telling Mademoiselle de Launay that 
she might extinguish her lantern, for 
she believed that they had at last found 
a man. 

But this man was young, this man 
was twenty six years of age, that is to 
say, with heart open still to the illusions 
and poetry of that first part of exist- 
ence. A child, he had deposited his 
wreaths at his mother’s feet, a young 
man, he had gone to display his colonel’s 
uniform to his mistress. In short, in 
all the enterprizes of his life, an image 
of one he loved had moved before him, 
and he cast himself into danger with 
the certainty that, if he fell, there 
would be some one to bewail his fate, 


4C 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


and to at least keep a remembrance of 
him while she lived. 

But his mother was dead. The last 
woman he believed he loved had betray- 
ed him ; he felt alone in the world, al- 
lied solely by interest to the persons 
who used him as an instrument, and 
who, far from weeping for his death, 
would but see in that a cause of tran- 
quillity. But, this isolated situation, 
wliichis envied by all men in a supreme 
danger, is almost always, in such a case, 
a cause of profound discouragement. 
Such is the horror of being noihing 
among men, who believes there still sur- 
vive the sentiments he inspired, and 
who consoles himself in some sort in 
quitting the eartli, by thinking of the re- 
grets which will accompany his memory, 
and of the teal's bedewing the flowers of 
his grave. So, at this moment, the che- 
valier wmukl have given all to be loved 
by something or some one, even by a 
dog perhaps. 

He was plunged in the saddest of his 
meditations, wmen in passing and re- 
passing his wdndow, he perc'.eived that 
the one of his neighbor was open. He 
suddenly stopped, shook his head to 
drive awa}^ his gloomy thoughts: then 
leaning his elbow against the wall, and 
his head in his hand, he essayed by the 
sight of exterior objects to give a differ- 
ent direction to his mind. But man is 
no more master of his waking than his 
sleeping, and the dreams he has, his eyes 
open or closed, follow^ an independent 
development of his w'ill, and weave, he 
know's not how or wh^g the invisible 
threads, which vibi’ating unexpectedly, 
reveal the half formed design. Then 
the most opposite objects approach, the 
most incoherent ideas are attracted ; 
one has those fugitive gleams by the aid 
of whicli, if they were not extinguished 
with the rapidity of a thought, w'e would 
perhaps discover the future. One feels 
something strange within him ; one com- 
prehends that he is but a sort of ma- 
chine moved by an invisible band and 
one bends to the uninteilligent caprice of 
chance, when he should bow before the 
mysterious will of God, 

It was thus with d’Harmcntal : he 
sought by the view of strange objects to 
distract his ixjcollecTons and Impes from 


his present position, and found but a 
continuation of his thoughts. 

The young girl whom he had perceiv- 
ed on the morning was sitting near the 
window to profit by the last gleams of 
the day; she was working at something 
like embroidery. Behind her was her 
harpsichord open, and upon a stool at 
her leet was her dog, slumbering in that 
light sleep proper to the animals nature 
has destined for the guardiancy of man, 
awaking at ever3^ noise from the street, 
pricking his ears, lengthening his head 
gracefully upon the sill, then falling 
back with one of its little paws upon its 
mistress’ lap. 

All this was exquisitely lit up by a 
beam of the setting sun which entered 
the room, leaving in luminous points the 
ornaments of the harpsich()rd and the 
gold upon the frame. The rest was in 
ihe twilight. 

Then it seemed to the chevalier, with- 
out doubt from the singular state of 
mind he was in when this sight struck 
his view, that this young girl, with calm 
and gentle flice, entered his life as one of 
those personage's remaining behind the 
curtain until then, and who appear in a 
play in the third or fourth act, to take a 
part of the action, and sometimes to 
change the denoument. Since that age 
when one sees angels in his dreams, he 
had not seen the like. The young girl 
resembled none of the females he had 
observed before then. She had a ming- 
ling of beauties, candor and simplicity, 
such as one finds sometimes in those 
charming heads which Greuze has copied, 
not in nature, but which one sees reflect- 
ed in the mirror of his imagination. 
Then forgetting all, the humble walks of 
life she doub less trod, the street where 
she was found, the modest room she 
dwelt in ; not seeing in the woman but 
the woman herself, and giving her a 
heart corresponding to her features, he 
thought of what happiness the man 
would have for whom her heart first beat, 
who would be looked upon with loving 
regards of those fine eyes, and who 
would cull from her lips, so fresh and so 
pure, the words : I love you !” that 
flow’ret of the soul in a first kiss. 

Such were the stramye clouds which 

O 

were formed b}' a diftiu'er ce in the posi-. 


47 . 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTiLE. 


tion of him who looked upon theo! je^’ts. 
Eight days before, in the midst of his 
luxur}^ in the life no danger menaced, 
between a breakfast at the tavern and a 
coursing match, between a challenge at 
Farolet’s tennis court, and an orgie at 
Eil Ion’s, if d’Harmental had met this 
girl, he would no doubt have seen in her 
but a charming grisette who he would 
have followed l)y his valet and to whom 
on the morrow he would have ofTered a 
present of twenty-five louis perhaps; 
but the d’Harmental of eight days be- 
fore existed no longer. 

In place of the fine lord, elegant, fool- 
ish, dissipated, was a young man, pro- 
ceeding in the sliadow, alone, with his 
own strength, without a star to guide 
him, who might at any moment feel the 
earth open under his feet, or the sky to 
fall upon his head. The former had 
need of a support, feeble though it 
might be, the latter had need of love. 
It was not astonishing tiiat, seeking for 
a Madonna to whom to make a prayer, 
be raised, in his imagination, this fair 
young girl from the materia! sphere in 
which he had found her, and deposited 
her, not as she was, but doubtless as he 
wished her to be, upon the empty pe- 
destal of his past adections. . 

Suddenly the young girl lifted her 
head, threw her eyes by chance be- 
fore her, and perceived through the 
panes the pensive face of the chevalier. 
It was evident to hei- that the young 
man remain<‘d there for her, and that it 
W'as her whom he was regarding. So a 
quick blush passed instantly over her 
countenance. Still she appeared as if 
she saw notliing, and lowered her head 
again towards her eml>roadery. But at 
the end of an instant she rose, made two 
or three turns of her chamber, then, with- 
out affectation, without fa^-e pirudery, 
though still with a sort of embarrass- 

o 

merit, she returned to close her window. 

D’llarmental remained whei*e he was 
and as he was continued, notwithstand- 
ing the closing of the, window, still 
traversing the imaginary ‘C.)untry where 
the thoughts travel. Once or twice it 
seemed to him he saw the curtains move 
as if his neighbor wished to know if the' 
young man who had driven her from 
her place was still at his own. Finally, 


some rapid notes ^vcre heard ; a tune 
succeeded them, a* d that made d’Har- 
mental open his window again. 

He was not deceived ; his neighbor 
had a most superior execution ; she 
played several pieces, but without ad- 
ding her voice to the sound of the in- 
strument, and d’Harmental found aS 
much pleasure in heai ing her as he had 
found in seeing her. Suddenly she stop- 
ped in the middle of a stave. D’Har- ^ 
mental supposed that she had seen him 
at the window, and wished to punish his 
curiosity, or that some one had entered 
and had ii^errupted her : he retired 
back but not so far to lose sight of the 
window. In an instant, he recognised 
that his last supposition was true. A 
man came to the window, glued his 
great fat face to one pane, vvhile with 
one hand he beat a march upon aiiothei 
pane. The chevalier recognised, though 
a sensible difference was made in his 
toilette, the man of the water-jet whom 
he had seen upon the terrace in the 
morning, and who, with an air of such 
perfect familiarity, had pronounced the 
name of Bath i Id e. 

This more than 'prosaic apparition 
produced the effect which it w'ould na- 
turally have done, that is it brought 
d’Harmenta) back from his imaginary 
to his real life. He had forgotten this 
man, Avho formed suc.i a strange con 
trasc with the young girl, of whom he 
necessarily was the father, the lover or 
husband. But. in all these cases, what 
connection could there be betwf'en the 
noble a d aristocratic chevalier and tire 
daughter, the spouse, or the mistress of 
such a man? it must be avowed what- 
ever relation he was, he could not iciain- 
tain Batliilde by his labors as a horti- 
culturist of the terrace at the height to 
which the chevalier had raised her in his 
dreams. 

So he laughed at his folly, and the 
night having came, and he not having 
since the morning set foot outside his 
domicile, he resolved to make a tour of 
the city to assure himself of the exact 
ness of the reports of Prince Cellamare’s 
police. He wrapped his cloak iiiauind 
him, descended the four floors, and pro- 
ceeded towaiais the Luxefrda)urg, where 
the note, which the abbe had given him 


48 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


ill the niorniiig, said that the Regent 
would go to sup without guards. 

Arriving in front of the Luxembourg, 
the chevalier saw no signs announcing 
that the Regent was with his child : there 
was but one sentinel at the door, while 
at the moment the Duke of Orleans 
entered, it had been the habit to place a 
second. Nay, he did not see in the 
court a carriage, the outriders, couriers, 
^ or footmen : it was evident that the 
duke had not yet ^come. The chevalier 
waited to see him pass, for, as the Re- 
gent never breakfasted and took nothing 
from two o’clock until afternoon but a 
cup of chocolate, it was rare that he 
supped later than six o’clock. But, 
three quarters past five bad sounded 
from Saint Sulpice as the chevalier 
turned the corner of the rue de Conde 
and the rue de Vaugiraud. 

The chevalier awaited for an hour 
and a half at the rue de Tournon, lead- 
ing from l ue du Petit Lion to the Pal- 
ace, without perceiving the person he 
sought. At a quarter past eight he saw 
some commotion in the Luxembourg. 

A vehicle, with mounted men, bearing 
torches, came to the foot of the stair- 
case. An instant after, three women 
entered it : he heard the coachman cry- 
ing out to the torch-bearers : ‘‘ To the 
Palais Royal !” The men galloped off, 
the vehicle followed, the sentinel pre- 
scnited arms, and yet though the ele- 
gant equipage passed before his eyes so 
quickly, the chevalier saw that it bore 
the arms of France, and recognised the 
Duchess de Berri, Madam de Mouchy, 
her maid of honor, and Madam de Pons, 
her tire -woman. There was a grave 
error in the report transmitted to the 
chevalier : this was the child going to 
the father and not the father going to 
his child* 

Still the chevalier waited, for there 
might have been some accident which 
retains the Regent. An hour after, 
the coach repassed. The Duchess de 
Berri was laughing at a history Broglie 
was recounting. It was not a serious 
accident. Prince Cellamare’s police 
were in fault. . 

The chevalier returned to his dwel- 
ling, without having been met or rec- 
omiized. He had some trouble in at- 

O 


taining entrance, for pursuant to the pa- 
tiiarchial habits of Madam Denis’s 
household, the porter was asleep. He 
came to draw back the bolts, grumbling. 
D’Harmental slipped a crown into his 
hand, saying once for all that he would 
sometimes return very late : but that 
every time the event occurred, there 
was the same gratuity for him. Upon 
which the porter overwhelmed him with 
thanks and assured him that he was per- 
fectly Ifee to come in at any time he 
pleased, and even not to enter at all. 

On returning to his room, D’Harmen- 
tal perceived that the opposite one was 
lit up : he placed his candle behind a 
piece of furniture and approached his 
window. In this fashion, he could see 
her, without being seen. 

She was seated near a table, probably 
designing upon a pasteboard, for one 
could see her profile detached in black 
upon the luminous place behind her. 
In an instant after, another shadow 
which the chevalier recognized for that 
of the good man of the terrace, passed 
twice or thrice between the light and 
the window. Finally the shadow ap- 
proached the young girl, who tendered 
her brow, and the shadow deposited a 
kiss upon it and went away with a can- 
dle-stick in his hand. 

Instantly after the glasses of the fifth 
floor were brightened. ’All these little 
circumstances spoke a language which 
it was impossible not to understand : the 
man of the terrace was not Bathilde’s 
husband ; he was all the more likely 
her father. 

D’Harmental, without knowing why, 
felt all joyous at this discovery; he 
opened as gently as he could, the win- 
dow, and leaning upon the window 
ledge, his eyes fixed upon that shadow, 
he fell back again into the same reve- 
rie as had been caused in the daytime, 
by the grotesque appearance of his 
neighbor. An hour after, the young 
girl rose, deposited the* pasteboard and 
crayons upon the table, advanced to the 
alcove, knelt upon ‘a chair before the 
second window, and prayed. D’Har- 
mental comprehended that her laborious 
task was finished, but recolb cting his 
pretty neighbor’s curi()sity when for the 
first time he had been musical, he would 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


40 


see if he had the power of prolonging 
the evening and he betook to his harpsi- 
chord. That which he had foreseen 
happened; at the first sounds which 
reached her ears the young girl, igno- 
rant that by the position of the light 
her shadow fell upon the curtains, ap- 
proached the window on tiptoe, and be- 
lieving herself well hidden, she listened 
without constraint to the melodious 
instrument, which like a bird of the 
evening, awoke to sing in the middle of 
the night. ^ 

The melody would .pGi’haps have con- 
tinued many hours, for d’Harmental, 
encouraged by the result produced, felt 
a rapture and a facility of execution 
which he had never known before. Un- 
fortunately, the lodger on the third floor 
was doubtless some clown, no lover of 
music, for d’Harmental all at once 
heard, just under his feet, the sound of 
a cane which rapped on the ceiling with 
such violence, that it could not be taken 
but as a direct warning for him to re- 
mit until some more convenient mo- 
ment his melodious occupation. In 
any other circumstance, d’Harmental 
would have sent this impertinent giver 
of advice to the deuce ; but he reflected 
that a discussion with the person would 
injure his reputation with Madam Denis, 
and that he played too heavy a stake to 
be recognised, not to let this pass philo- 
sophically as one of the inconveniences 
of the new position he had adopted. In 
consequence, instead of opposing the 
nocturnal regulations between his 
hostess and her lodgers, he obeyed the 
invitation, forgetting the manner it had 
been made. 

On her part, as if she had heard no- 
thing, the young girl left the window, 
and as she let fall behind her the second 
curtain of Persian stuff she disappeared 
from d’Harmeiltal’s eyes. Some time 
longer the chamber was lit up, but at 
last all lights were extinguished. As 
for the room on the fifth floor, for two 
hours previous it had been in the most 
perfect obscurity, 

D’Harrnental went to bed in his 
turn, all joyful at the thought that there 
existed a point of contact between him 
and his fair neighbor. 

The next day, the Abbe Brigaud (Al- 


tered this room with his ordinary punc- 
tuality. The chevalier had already 
risen an hour before, and had twenty 
times gone to his window without see- 
ing his neighbor. In fact, he had seen 
on awakening the large curtains placed 
in their holders. So, all disposed as he 
was to vent his ill-humor upon some 
one : 

“Ah ! pardieu! my dear Abbe,” said 
he, the instant the door was closed, “ con- 
gratulate the prince for me upon his po- 
lice : it is perfectly managed, i’faith I” 

“ What have you against it ?” de- 
manded the abbe with his habitual half- 
smile. 

“ What have I ? Yesterday, wishing 
to judge myself of their faithfulness, I 
went to ambush myself in the rue de 
Tournon, where I was four hours, and it 
was not the Regent going to his daugh- 
ter, but Madam the Duchess de Bern 
wlio went to her father.” 

“ Well, we knew that.” 

“ Ah ! you knew it 1” said d’Harmen- 
tal. 

“ Yes, she left five minutes past eight 
last night from the Luxembourg with 
Madam de Mouchy and Madam de 
Pons, and she returned at half past nine 
with Broglie, who came to take at the 
table the place of the Regent who had 
been uselessly expected.” 

“ But where is the Regent 1” 

“ The Regent ]” 

“ Yes.” 

“ That is another history ; you shall 
know it : listen and let not a word es- 
cape you, then we shall see if you will 
again say the prince’s police is badly 
managed.” 

“ I am listening.” 

“ Our report announced that the 
Duke- Regent was to go, at three o’clock 
yesterday, to play a match at the tennis- 
court rue de Seine.” 

“ Yes.” • 

“ He went. About half an hour af- 
terwards, he came out, holding his hand- 
kerchief to his eyes ; he had struck 
himself with the racket on his eyebrow, 
with such violence that he laid the skin 
open.” 

“ Ah ! thus the accident I” 

“ Wait. Then the Regent, instead of 
re-entering the Palais Royal, was led 


50 


THE ORAXGE PLUME; OR, 


to the house of Madam de Sabran. 
You know where Madam de Siibran 
dwells r 

“She did live rue de Tournon ; but 
since her husband was appointed the lie- 
gent’s steward, does she not live me des 
Boiis-Enfants, near the Palais Royal 

“ Precisely. But, it appears that 
Madam de Sabran, who until tlien had 
been faithful to Richelieu, touched by 
the pitiable s ate of the poor prince, 
would justify a proverb : ‘Unfortunate at 
play, lucky at love !’ The prince, at half- 
past seven, by a little note, dated from 
Madam de Sa bran’s dining-room, an- 
uouncc'd to Bi-oglie that he should not 
goto the Luxembourg, and charged him 
to go in his place, and make excuses to 
the Duchess de Bei-ri.” 

“ Ah ! so that is the history Broglie 
was relating and which caused the la- 
dies to laugh 

“That is probable. Now, do you 
comprehend 

“ Yes, 1 comprehend, that the Regent 
not having the power of ubiquity, could 
not be at the same time with ]\ladam 
de Sabran and with his child.” 

“And you do not understand yet?” 

“Myd^ ar Abbe, yon speak like an 
ora('le, explain yourself” 

“ Thi-i evening I will come for you 
at ei_ht o’clock, and w^e will go to make 
a tour through the rue des Bons-Enfants. 
The place will speak for itself.” 

“Ah! oh!” said d’llarmental, “I 
• am— — So near the Palais Royal, the 
Regent goes on foot : the hotel bladarn 
'de Sfibi'an inhabits has its ciiti-ance 
upon tin; rin* d{'s Boiis-lbifants ; alter 
a certain hour they close the passage of 
the Pab'.is iboai wliich lets out upon 
the rue des Bon.<-Knfants ; lie is them 
obliged to enter by turning by the O'ur 
des Eontaines (ir by the rue N<'uve-(.ies- 
Bons-Enfants, a.nd then, wo have h m ! 
Mordien ! Abbe, yon are a great man, 
•and if the duk(‘ du Maine does not 
make you a cardiiial or at least an arch- 
Eishop, fie upon justice !” 

“•I ‘Will c<»unt ujKni that. Now, un- 
derstand! be in readiness.” 

“ 1 am now.” 

“ Have you the means of executing 



“ Then you correspond with your 
men ?” 

“ By a signal.” 

“ And that signal cannot betray you ?” 

“ Impossible.” 

“Ill that case all goes well. Let us 
have breakfast, for 1 came in so great 
a haste to see you and tell the fine news, 
that I left without mine.” 

“ Breakfast, my dear, Abbe ! you 
speak quite at your ease. I have nothing 
to ( fler you but the remainder of yes- 
terday’s pasty and three or four bot- 
•tles of wine wliich have survived, I be- 
lieve, the battle.” 

“Hum, hum!” murmured the abbe 
inwardly. “ We can do better than 
that, my dear Chevalier.” 

“ At your orders.” 

“ Let us descend and breakfast with 
your good landlady. Madam Denis.” 

“ How the deu e can I breakfast with 
1 er? I do not know her. 

“That regards me. 1 will present 
yon as my pupil.” 

“ Rut we shall have a destestable 
breakfast.” 

“ Make yourself easy : I know the 
cookery.” 

“ But that meal will be tiresome.” 

“ But you will become the friend of 
a woimin perfectly known in the quar- 
licr for her excellent manners, for iiei 
devotion to the government; of a wo- 
man incapable of harboring a conspira* 
toi'. Do you not see ?” 

“ If it is fur the good of the cause-, 
Abbe, 1 will sacrifice myself.” 

“ Without reckoning that it is an 
agreeable family jn which are the two 
yoiiug persons who play, the one the 
viol, the other the spinet; and a lad 
who is clerk; a household in short 
wiiere you cm descend to make a party 
of l ‘tO.” ' 

“ Go to the deuce with your Madam 
Denis! Ah ! pard''n,Abbe, you are per- 
haps her friend. In that case, cemsider 
as if I had said n-oihmg.” 

“ 1 am the director of theh >use,” re- 
plied pne Abbe Brigand with a modest 
air. 

“Then a thousand excuses, my dear 
Ablx'. But you are rRdit ill fact: IMad- 
ain Denis is still a fine woman, who 
bears h-'r age we: I, with superb hands, 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


51 


and very small feet. Peste ! I recall It. 
Descend the first, I wiil follow you.” 

Why not together?” 

And my toilette so, Abbe ! you 
wish me to appear all ruffled as I am 
before the young ladies? Besides, .it is 
more suitable for you to announce me : 
[ have not the privileges of a director.” 

You are right I will descend, and in 
ten minutes you will arrive in person 
will you not ?” 

In ten minutes.” 

Farewell.” 

‘‘ Alt 

The chevalier had but said half the 
truth : he remained to make his toilette 
perhaps, but also in the hope that he 
would perceive something of his fiiir 
neighbor, of whom he had dreamed 
all night. This desire was not gratified : 
though he took care not to be seen from 
the window, that of the young girl of 
the light hair and black eyes remained 
closed. It is true that in exchange he 
perceived his neighbor, who, in the 
morning attire the chevalier already 
knew, passed, with the same precaul inn 
as in the morning, his hand first, then 
his head. But this time his progress 
was not so far for he felt the fog, and 
the fog, one knows, is essentially con- 
trary to the organization of the citizens 
of Paris. So he coughed twice in the 
deepest base of his voice, and, retiring 
head and arm, re-entered his cham- 
ber as a tortoise draws in his head. D’- 
ITarinental saw besides with pleasure, 
that he could dispense with buying a 
barometer, and that his neighbor would 
render him the same service as do those 
good Capuchins of the wood who come 
out from their hermitages on fine davs 
and who remain on the contrary obsti- 
nately within their caves on days when 
it rains. 

The appearance had its ordinary effect 
and reacted upon poor Bathilda. Each 
time that d’Harmi ntal saw the young 
girl he found in her such an attraction 
that he saw her no more but as a yonng 
woman, graceful, pretty, a musician and 
a painter, that i.s to say as the most com- 
plete and most delicious creature he had 
ever (‘ncountered. In such moments, 
like those phantoms who pass in the 
nights of our dreams bearing as a lamp 


of alabaster their light in themselves, 
she shone in a celestial ray, repulsing 
all which surrounded her in the obscuri- 
ty ; but when, in his turn, the man of 
the garden offered himself to the cheva- 
lier’s eyes, with his common face, his 
trivial form, that indelible type of vul- 
garity which is attached to certain indi- 
viduals^ a strange change operated in 
the chevalier’s mind : all poetry disap- 
peared as, at a whistle from the machin- 
ist of a theatre, disappears the palace 
of a fairy : things were illuminated with 
the light of this world, the native ari.s- 
tocracy of D’Harmental retook its supe- 
riority : Bathilde was but the child of 
this man, a grisette, that is all: her 
beauty, her grace, her elegance, even 
her talents became an accident of chance, 
an error of nature, something like a 
rose which flowers from a cabbage-stalk, 

Tlien the chevalier laughed loudly, 
and, not understanding the lively im- 
pression he had felt an instant before, 
he attributed it to the preoccupation of 
his mind, the strangeness of his situa- 
tion, to solitude, to everything in short 
but the veritable cause, to the sovereign 
power of distinction and of beauty. 

D’Harmental descended then to his 
landlady’s apartments, in the most favor- 
able disposition of mind to find the 
Misses Denis charming. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE DENIS FAMILY. 

Madam Denis judged it scarcely 
suitable that two young persons so in- 
nocent as were her two daughters should 
breakfast with a young man who, since 
the three days only he had been in Paris, 
entered already at eleven o’clock of the 
night, and played the harpsichord until 
two in the morning. The Abbe Bri- 
gand affirmed that this double infraction 
of the interior regulations of her house 
did not in the least depreciate the man 
nersof his pupil, for whom he answered 
as for himself, all that he obtained was 
that the Mcsderaoiselles Denis should 
appear at dessert. 

But the chevalier soon perceived that 


52 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


if their mother would not allow their 
being seen, she could not prevent their 
being heard. Scarcely bad the three 
seated themselves at the table, bearing a 
breakfast composed of a multitude of 
little dishes appetising to the eye and 
delicious to the palate, than the broken 
notes of a spinet were heard, accom- 
panying a voice which wanted not in 
volume, but the frequent errors of which 
denoted deplorable inexperience. 

At the first notes, Madam Denis 
placed her hand upon the abbe’s arm, 
then, after an instant of silence, she 
listened wdth a complaisant smile to that 
music which made the chevalier’s skin 
creem 

“ Uo you hear it said she : “ it is 
our Athenais who plays the harpsichord, 
and it is Emily who sings.” 

The abbe making a sign of ,the head 
that he understood perfectly the accom- 
paniment and the voice, stepped upon 
d’Harmental’s foot to iridicate to him 
that an occasion presented itself for him 
to pay a compliment. 

“Madam,” instantly said the cheva- 
lier, comprehending the appeal the abbe 
made upon his politeness, “we should 
doubly thank you, for you offer us not 
only an excellent breakfast, but a delici- 
ous concert also.” 

“ Yes,” replied Madam Denis negli- 
gently, “ they are amusing themselves : 
they do not know you are here, and 
they are studying : but I will prevent 
them continuing.’^ 

Madam Denis made a movement to 
rise. 

“ How, Madam,” cried d’Harmental, 
“ because I come from the provinces, 
you believe me incapable of doing jus- 
tice to the talents of the capital?” 

“ God preserve me, sir, from having 
such an opinion of you !” replied Mad- 
am Denis with an air full of malice, 
“ for I knoV that you are a musician. 
The third floor lodger warned me.” 

“ In that case. Madam, he did not 
give you a high opinion of iny merit,” 
laughingly resumed the chevalier, “ for 
he appeared not to appreciate the little 
I may know.” 

“ He only said that the hour seemed 
to him a strange one for music. But 
hark, ^lonsieur Raoul,” added Madam 


Denis ; “ the parts are changed ; now, 
my dear Abbe, it is our Athenais who 
sings, and it is Emily who accompanies 
her sister upon the viol.” 

It appeared that Madam Denis had a 
weakness for Athenais ; instead of 
speaking as she had throughout the 
whole time Emily was singing, she 
listened from one end to the other of her 
favorite’s ballad, her eyes tenderly fixed 
upon the Abbe Brigand, who, without' 
losing a bite or a glass of wine, content- 
ed himself with nodding in sigri of ap- 
proval. Athenais' sung a little more 
just than her sister, but that quality was 
redeemed by a fault at least equivalent 
in the chevalier’s ears ; she had a voice 
of frightful vulgarity. 

As for Madam Denis, she tossed her 
head, with an air of beatitude which did 
infinitely more honor to her maternal 
condescension, than to her musical inte) 
ligerice. 

A duet succeeded the solos. The 
young ladies had sworn to empty their 
music-book. D’Harmental sought under 
the table for the abbe’s feet to crush at 
least one ; but he met those of Madam 
Denis, who, taking it for a personal en- 
couragement, turned graciously to him* 

“ So then, Monsieur Raoul,” said she, 
“ you have come, young and inexperi- 
enced, to expose yourself to all the 
dangers of the capital.” 

“ Oh, my God; yes !” said the Abbe 
Brigand, taking the reply for himself for 
fear that d’Harmental could not resist 
pleasing by some little nonsense. “ You 
see in that young man, Madam Denis, 
the son of a friend of mine who was 
very dear to me (he carried his napkin 
to his eyes) and who, I hope will do 
honor to the cares 1 have given to his 
education ; for, though he has not the 
air, my pupil is very ambitious.” 

“ And you are right,” said Madam 
Denis. “ From the talents and appear- 
ance of the gentleman, it seems to me 
anything may be expected.” 

“ Ah I but, Madam Denis,” resumed 
the abbe, “ if you take me up at the first 
word so, I will bring him here no more. 
Take care, Raoul, my child,” continued 
he, in a paternal tone to the chevalier, “I 
hope you do not believe a word of that.” 
Then, whispering to Madam- Denis : 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE/ 


58 


" Such as you see him,” added he, he 
could remain at Sauvigiiy, and take the 
first rank of society : he lias three thou- 
sand livres yearly income in houses and 
lands.” 

“That is just what I counted upon to 
give to each of my girls,” replied Mad- 
am Denis, raising her voice that the 
chevalier might hear her, and glancing 
at him to see what effect the announce- 
ment of such a magnificent sum would 
produce upon him. 

Unfortunately for the future of the 
young ladies of the Denis family, the 
chevalier thought of something else at 
the moment than uniting the three thou- 
sand livres a year, which the generous 
mother endowed her daughters, to the 
thousand crowns annually which the abbe 
bestowed upon him. The falsetto of 
Emily, the contralto of Athenais, the 
poorness of the accompaniment of tiie 
two, had brought to his recollection that 
voice so pure and so flexible, and the 
execution so distinguished and learned 
of his neighbor. 

It resulted that, from that singular 
power of reaction which a great pre-oc- 
cupation gives us against exterior objects, 
the chevalier escaped the char'ivari exe- 
cuted in the next chamber, and, taking 
refuge within himself, following the 
sweet melody which undulated through 
and between his thoughts, and which, as 
if encasing him within an enchanted ar- 
mor, repelled the harsh sounds which 
came to it. 

“See how he listens,” said Madam 
Denis to Brigand. “ At a pretty time ! 
it is pleasant to furnish things to a young 
man like him. So I reprimanded M. 
Fremond.” 

“ Who is this M. Fremond ]” demand- 
ed the abbe filling a glass. 

“ He is the lodger of the third floor, 
a little gentleman of twelve hundred 
livres, whose dog is the calise of all the 
grumbling of the house, and who came 
to complain of M. Raoul preventing him 
from sleeping, he and his dog.” 

“ My dear Madam Denis,” said the 
Abbe Brigand, “ there is no reason you 
should disagree with this M. Fremond. 
Two o’clock in the morning is an out-of- 
the-way time, and if my pupil would 
absolutely keep awake, he must attend 


to his music in the daytime and draw by 
night.” ^ 

“ What ! Monsieur Raoul draws 
also ]” cried Madam Denis, all wonder- 
struck by this marvellous surplus of 
talent. 

“ Does he draw ? Like Mignard !” 

“ Oh, my dear Abbe !” said Madam 
Denis, clasping her hands, “ if we could 

obtain one thing ” 

“ What ?” 

“ If he would make the portrait of 
our Athenais !’^ 

The chevalier awoke suddenly from 
his mental sleep, as a traveller rising 
from the grass which, during his slum- 
ber, he had felt move as if a serpent 
glided beneath it, and who instinctively 
comprehend that a great danger menaced 
him. 

“ Abbe !” cried he, fixing upon poor 
Brigand his flaming eyes ; “ Abbe ! no 
follies 

“ Oh, my God, what ails your pupil ?” 
almost screamed Madam Denis terri- 
fied. 

. F ortunately, at the moment when the 
abbe, rather embarrassed for what to re- 
ply to the landlady, sought for some 
honest subterfuge to explain the cheva- 
lier’s exclamation, the door opened, and 
the two daughters of the hostess entered 
blushing, and separating to the right 
and to the left, made each one a curtsey. 

“ Well !” said Madam Denis affecting 
a serious air, “ what do you want here ? 
Who gave you permission to leave your 
room T’ 

“ Mamma,” responded a voice which 
the chevalier, from its tones, recognized 
for that of Emily, “ we beg pardon if 
we have made a fault and will go back 
to our room.” 

“But, mamma,” said another voice, 
which the chevalier judged as appertain- 
ing to Athenais, “ we believed that we 
could come in at the dessert.” 

“ Come, come, since you are here, it 
is not worth the while to send you back. 
Besides,” added their mother, making 
Athenais seat herself by Brigand’s side, 
and Emily between her and the cheva- 
lier, “ these two young persons are al- 
ways good, are they not, Abbe ? when 
under their mother’s eye.” 

And Madam Denis presented to her 


54 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


daughters a plate of candies, from wliich 
they took with the tips of their fingers 
and with a modesty which did honor to 
the good education they had received, 
Emily a burnt almond, and Athenais a 
chocolate lozenge. 

The chevalier, during the discourse 
and action of Madam Denis, had found 
time to examine her daughters. Emily 
was a large thin person of twenty-two 
or twenty-three years, who, say we, had 
a great resemblance to the late M. Denis, 
her father, an advantage which did not 
lead her to merit, it appeared, the place 
in the maternal heart equal to that which 
Madam Denis felt for her two other 
children. So, poor Emily, always fear- 
ful of chiding, had remained in a native 
awkwardness which the reiterated les- 
sons of her dancing-master could not 
make disappear. As for Athenais, she 
was the very opposite of her sister, a 
little, round, plump and healthy girl of 
sixteen or seventeen years of age, who 
had what is vulgarly called the Devil’s 
own beauty. She resembled neither M. 
nor Madam Denis, a singularity which 
had much exercised the wits of the rue 
Saint Martin before Madam Denis and 
her husband had ceased selling cloth, 
and had came to reside in the house her 
husband had bimght in the rue Temps- 
perdu. 

Notwithstanding this absence of simi- 
larity with her parents. Mademoiselle 
Athenais was not the less the declared 
favorite of her mother, who gave her all 
which poor Emily missed. Like a good 
creatui e as she was, Athenais profited 
always by this favor, it must be said to 
her credit, to excuse the pretended 
faults of her older sister. Besides, the 
chevalier, who in his quality as a de- 
signer was a physiognomist, believed 
he remarked, at the first glance, between 
the visage of Athenais and the Abbe 
Brigaud, certain analogous lines which, 
joined to a singular resemblance in the 
form, might guide the curious in the re- 
search of her paternity, if that research 
was not sagely inter dieted by pur laws. 

The two sisters, though it was not 
eleven o’clock of the morning, were ap- 
parelled as if to go to a ball, and wore 
upon theii’ necks, their arms, and in 
their ears, all they possessed of jewels. 


This appearance so confirmed the idea 
d’Harmental had formed in advance of 
his landlady’s daughters, that it opened 
for him a new source o. reflection. 
Since the two young lad es were in such 
perfect harmony with their state and 
their education, how was it that Bathilde, 
who appeared of a condition at least 
equal to theirs, was visibly as distin- 
guished as they were vulgar ? 

How was it that between girls of the 
same class and the same age, that im- 
mense moral and physical dilference ? 
There must be some strange secret be- 
low it all, which one day or another the 
chevalier might know,. 

A second appeal, wdiich the abbe’s 
foot addressed to d’liarmental’s, he 
comprehended that his relictions might 
be perfectly just, but the moment in 
which they were made was decidedly 
misplaced. In fact. Madam Denis had 
taken upon herself an air of dignity so 
significant, that d’Harmental judged that 
he must not lose an instant in effacing, 
in his landlady’s mind, the bad impr<‘s- 
sion which his distraction had produced. 

Madam,” said he immediately with 
his most gracious air, “ those 1 have 
seen of your family makes me feel wliat 
honor it would be to see them entire. 
Is not your son in some part of the 
h )use, and can I not have the pleasure 
of his being present ?” 

“ Sir,” responded Madam Denis, his 
amiable interpellation had brought back 
all her grace, “ my sou is at M. Joulu, 
his attorney, and, unless his business 
brings him to this quarter, it is little 
probable that he will have this morning 
ihe honor of making your acquaint- 
ance.” 

‘‘Parbleu! my dear pupil,” said the 
Abbe Brigaud, extending his hand on 
the side towards the door, you are like 
Aladdin, and it suffices, it appears, for 
you to express a desire for that desire to 
be accomplished.” . 

In fact, at the same moment they 
heard from the stairway the ballad of 
‘Marlboro’,’ which at that epoch had 
all the charm of novelty, and the door 
was opened without any previous warn- 
ing, a lad appearing upon the sill, with 
a cheerful countenance much the same 
as that of Mademoiselle Athenais, 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTIL?.. 


55 


“ Good, good!” said the new comer, 
considering the family augmented by 
the abbe and the chevelier. Not 
badly done, mother Denis: She sends 
Boniface to his attorney, with a slice of 
bread and cheese ! She tells him: 
‘ See, my friend, guard against indiges- 
tions and in his absence, she lias 
feasts. Luckily this poor Boniface has 
a good nose. He passes by the rue 
Montmartre, he snu& the air, and he 
says: ‘ What is that coming from down 
there. No. 5 rue Temps-perdu T Then 
he comes here, and here he is 1 Room 
for one.” 

And joining the action to the recital, 
Boniface pulled a chair to the table, and 
seated himself between the Chevalier 
d’Harmental, and the Abbe Brigand. 

^‘Boniface,” said Madam Denis, es- 
saying a severe air, do you not see 
there are strangers here 

Strangers !” said Boniface taking a 
plate before him. “ And where are the 
strangers'? Is it you, Abbe Brigand? is 
it you, M. Raoul? Well! he is not a 
stranger, he is a lodger.” And, taking 
one ot the dishes he began to fill his 
plate and eat as if to make up for lost 
time. 

“ Pardieu ! Madam Denis,” said the 
chevalier, “ I see with pleasure that I 
am more advanced than I thought I w^as 
since I have the honor of being known 
by M. Bonifice.” 

“It would be droll if I did not know 
you,” said the attorney’s clerk between 
two mouthfuls ; “ you have my cham- 
ber.” 

“ What ! Madam Denis,” said d’Har- 
mental, “ you left me ignorant that I 
had the honor of succeeding in my lodg- 
ing the heir presumptive of your house. 
It astonishes me no more that I found a 
room so finely, arranged. One recog- 
nised a mother’s cares.” 

“ Yes, a great deal you do ! But, if 
I have a friendly counsel to give you, it 
is not to look too much from the win- 
dow.” 

“ Why so ?” demanded d’Harmental. 

“Why? Because there is a certain 
neighbor in front of it.” 

“ Mademoiselle Bathilde ?” said the 
chevalier. 

“ Oh ! you know her already re- 


sumed Boniface. “Good, good, that 
goes well.” 

“ Will you be silent, sir !” cried Ma- 
dam Denis. 

“Stay!” continued Boniface, “the 
lodgers must be warned when there are 
redhibitory cases in the neighboring 
houses. You have not been with an at- 
torney, mother, you don’t know that.” 

“ That child is full of spirit,” said thd 
Abbe Brigand, in that jeering tone of 
his, thanks to which C)ne never knew 
whether he railed or spoke seriously. 

“ But,” returned Madam Denis, 
“ what connection is there betvmen 
Monsieur Raoul and this Bathilde?” 

“ What connection? It is that, in 
eight days, he will be loving like a fool, 
or rather he will not be a man, and that 
is but the penalty of loving a coquette.” 

“A coquette ?” said d’Plarmental. 

“Yes, a coquette, a coquette,” repeat- 
ed Boniface ; “ I have said, I shall not 
unsay it. A coquette, who plays the 
prude with t'.e young men, and dwmlls 
with an old man. Without counting 
that pig of a Mirza, who eat up all my 
bonbons, and who, every time he meets 
me now, comes to snap at my legs.” 

“ Rise,” cried Madam Denis making 
her daughters get up. “ Ears so pure 
aa yours must not hear such levity.” 

And she pushed Athenais and Emily 
to the door of their room, entering it 
with them. 

As for d’Harmental, he felt seized 
with a ferocious wish to break Boni- 
face’s head with a bottle. But, seeing 
the folly of such an action, he overcame 
it by an effort. 

“ But,” said he, “ I think that good 
citizen whom I saw on the roof, for it is 
doubtless of him you would, speak, M. 
Boniface ” 

“ Of himself, the old rogue ! What do 
yoii think of him ?” 

“Is her fatlier,” continued d’Harmen- 
tal. 

“ Her father ? Has this Mademoiselle 
Bathilde a father? Has she a father?” 

“ Or at least her uncle.” 

“ Ah ! her uncle ! in the Brittany fash- 
ion, perhaps, but hot otherwise.” 

“ Sir,” said Madam Denis majestical- 
ly, coming from her children’s room, 
where her daughters were doubtless com 


56 


THE ORAXGE PLUME ; OR, 


signed to the farthest part, I beg you 
once for all, ne^er to say such light 
words before your sisters.’^ 

Ah ! yes ! ’ said Boniface, continuing 
bis inconsiderate words, my sisters ! 
Do you think at their age they cannot 
understand that, above all when Emily 
is twenty-three 

“Emily is as innocent as the unborn 
child, sir !” said Madam Denis, retaking 
her place between Brigand and d’Har- 
mental. 

“ Innocent ! Yes, mother Denis : I 
found a pretty romance in the chamber 
of your innocent one time in Lent. I 
will show it to you, papa Brigand, as 
you are her confess Dr. We shall see a 
little if you will permit her to have it on 
Easter.’’ 

“ Be still, wicked rogue !” said the ab- 
be : “ you see the grief you cause your 
mother.” 

Indeed, Madam Denis, suffocated with 
shame that such a scene should pass be- 
fore a young man to whom, with that 
foresight of mothers, she had perhaps 
already given her daughter, really felt 
bad. 

There is nothing which to men is so 
awkward as when a woman faints. 
Whether he believed it was or was not 
affectation, the chevalier was too polite 
not to give, in such a case, a mark of 
interest to his hostess. He ran to her 
with open arms. It resulted that Mad- 
am Denis let herself fall towards him, 
and, hanging her head back, she swoon- 
ed in d’Karmental’s arms. 

“ Abbe,” said the chevalier, while 
Boniface profited by the circumstance to 
fill his pockets with the sweetmeats which 
remained upon the table, “ Abbe, a 
chair.” 

The Abbe Brigand pushed forward a 
ehsir with that tranquillity of a man fa- 
miliar to such accidents, and who was 
acquainted with their conclusions. They 
seated Madam Denis, and d’Harmental 
made her respire salts, while Brigaud 
struck her open palms ; but in spite of 
these cares, Madam Denis appeared no 
ways disposed to come to, when all at 
onc(‘, at the moment they least expected 
it, she sprung to her feet, as a shot from 
a gun, and screamed. D’Harmental 
thought that a fit had succeeded her 


swooning ; ne was truly frightened, there 
was such an accent of pain in the wo- 
man’s cry. 

“ It is nothing, it is nothing,” said 
Boniface. “ I only poured the water 
which remained in the decanter down 
her back. That brought her to. Well, 
what !” continued the unpitying fellow, 
seeing Madam Denis look at him with 
a terrible expression ; “ it is 1. Do you 
not know me, mother Denis ? It is your 
little Boniface, whom you love so well.” 

“ Madam,” said d’Harmental, much 
embarrassed at his situation, “ I am 
truly sorry at all that has happened.” 

“ Oh ! sir,” cried Madam Denis burst- 
ing into tears, “lam really unfortunate.” 

“ Do not weep, mother Denis ! You 
are already wet,” said Boniface. “Much 
better change your chemise ; there is 
nothing so bad as to have wet linen on 
the back.” 

“ That child is full of sense,” said Bri- 
gaud, “ and I think you had better fol- 
low his counsel. Madam Denis.” 

“ If I dared join my entreaties to 
those of the abbe,” resumed d’Harmen- 
tal, “ I would beg you. Madam, not to 
constrain yourself for us. Besides, the 
moment for retiring has come, and we 
will take leave of you.” 

“ And you also, Abbe ?” said Madam 
Denis, throwing a look of distress upon 
Brigaud. 

“ I,” said Brigaud, who cared not to 
appear in his character as consoler, “ 1 
am waited for at the Hotel Colbert, and 
I must absolutely leave you.” 

“Farewell, then, gentlemen,” said 
Madam Denis, making a reverence, from 
which the water thrown on her by Boni- 
face, and which began to run down, de- 
prived of much of its majesty. 

“ Farewell, mother,” said Boniface, 
throwing, with the assurance of a spo 1- 
ed child, his two arms around the neck 
of Madam Denis. “ You have nothing 
to say to M. Joulu.” 

“Farewell, you bad fellow,” replied 
the poor woman, embracing her son, 
half smiling and half angry, but yield- 
ing to that attraction no mother can 
withstand. “ Farewell, and be good !” 

“ As an angel, mother Denis, but on 
the condition you set an extra plate oi' 
sweetmeats for dinner, eh 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTIEE. 


57 


And the third clerk of M. Joulu went 
capering- to join the abbe and d’Harmen- 
tal, who were already upon the landing- 
place. 

“ W ell, well, little rogue said the 
abbe, quickly putting his hand in his 
vest, “ what do you want here 

Papa Brigand, 1 only looked to see 
if there was in your pocket a half crown 
for your friend Boniface.” 

Hold,” said the abbe, ‘‘here is a 
crown ; leave us tranquil, go.” 

“ Papa Brigaud,” said Boniface, in the 
effusion of his acknowledgement, “ you 
have the"' heart of a cardinal, and if the 
King does not make you at least an 
archbishop, well ! on my honor, you will 
be robbed. Farewell, Monsieur Raoul,” 
continued he to the chevalier with the 
same familiarity as if ho had known 
him for ten years. “ I repeat to you, 
beware of Mademoiselle Bathilde if you 
would keep your heart, and throw Mirza 
a bit of meat, if you wish to preserve 
your legs.” 

And leaning on the balustrade with 
one hand, he descended with one bound 
over the twelve steps of the first flight, 
and was at the door without having 
touched a single step of the staircase. 

BrigauJ descended at a more quiet 
pace behind his friend Boniface, after 
making for the evening an appointment 
with the chevalier. As for d’Harmen- 
tal, he mounted pensively to his attic. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

TRE SCARLET RIBBON. 

That which occupied the chevalier’s 
mind, was neither the conclusion of the 
plot of which he was so principal a 
leader, and which seemed to approach, 
nor the admirable precaution which the 
Abbe Brigand, had taken in lodging him 
within a house where he had the habit, 
for ten years, to come every day ; so 
that these visits, if more frequent still, 
would not have been remarked. It was 
neither the majestic diction of Madam 
Denis, the soprano of Mademoiselle 
Emily, the contralto of Mademoiselle 
Athenais, nor the pranks of M. Boni- 


face ; it was w' holly that he had heard 
poor Bathilde so lightly spoken of at 
the breakfast. 

But our reader will be strongly de- 
ceived if he believes that Boniface’s 
rude accusation had injured the least in 
the world the still confused and inexpli- 
cable sentiments the chevalier felt for 
the young girl. His first impression 
had been one of disgust ; but on reflect- 
ing, he could not believe such an alliance 
possible. Chance might have born a 
charming child to a father without dis- 
tinction j necessity might unite a young 
and elegant woman to an old and vulgar 
husband ; but it was neither love nor 
interest between the jmung girl of the 
fourth floor and the townsman of the 
roof. But, between these two beings 
so opposed in all things, there could not 
exist love ; and as for interest, the 
thing was still less probable, for if their 
situation did not descend to misery, it 
was certainly not elevated above the 
middle class ; and not even of that me- 
diocrity of w^hich speaks Horace, and 
which gives a country house to a Tibur 
or a Montmorency : which resulted in 
a pension of thirty thousand sesterces 
from Augustus, or an entry of six 
thousand francs upon the ledger ; but 
of that poor and piteous mediocrity 
which permits one to live from day to 
day, and frorfl which one is prevented 
from descending into real poverty but 
by incessant, nocturnal and desperate 
labor. 

The only moral which came from this 
was that it had for d’Harrneiital the cer- 
tainty that Bathilde was neither the 
daughter, the wife, nor the mistress of 
this terrible neighbor, whese sight alone 
was sufficient to produce so strange a 
reaction in the young man’s love. Then 
if she was neither one nor the other of 
those three things, there must be a 
mystery about Bathilde’s birth, and if 
there was a mystery, Bathilde was not 
what she appeared to be. From that 
time all was explained ; that aristocrat- 
ic beauty, that charming grace, that fin- 
ished education ceased to be longer 
an enigma without answer. Bathilde 
was above the position she was momen- 
tarily forced to occupy ; there was in 
the young girl’s fortune one of those re- 


58 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


versions which are for individuals whaPl tion : 
earthquakes are for cities ; something 
had happened in her life, which had 
forced her to descend to the inferior 
sphere where she vegetated, and she was 
as the outlawed angels who are obliged 
lor sometime to lead the life of man, 
but who await the day when God shall 
leturn them their wings to mount 
to heaven. 

The result of all this was that the 
chevalier, without losing consideration 
in his own eyes, could be in love with 
Bathilde. When the heart contends 
with pride it has admirable resources 
to deceive its high and haughty enemy. 

From the moment Bathilde had a name, 
she was classed and could not go fi’om 
that circle of Popilus which her famil}" 
traced around her ; but when she had 
no name, no himily, when the gloom 
which surrounded her left her all re- 
splendant with effulgence, nothing more 
prevented the imagination of the man 
who loved her, from raising her in his 
hope to an elevation which he did not 
dare to attain with a look. 

Consequently, far from following the 
advice given so amicably by Bonifiice, 
the first thing which d’Harmental did 
on entering his room was to go s raight 
to the window and see in what state w^as 
tha|; of his neighbor : the opposite win- 
dow was open at its utmost width. 

If any one had said eight days before 
to the chevalier that a thing so simple 
as an open window would make his 
heart beat, he W'ould certainly have 
laughed joyfully at such a supposition. 

Still he was thus, for, after having pres- 
sed his hand an instant upon his breast 
like a man who breathes at last after a 
long oppression, he leaned on the other 
by the wall to look by a corner, that he 
might watch the young girl without be- 
ing seen by her, for he feared that if he 
was perceived she would be 1 Tightened, 
at that persistent attention of which 
she wa^ the object and which she could 
alone attribute to curiosity. 

An instant after d’Harmental perceiv- 
ed that the chamber became solitary, for 
the active young girl would certainly 
have passed and repassed if she had not 
been absent. D’Harmental threw up his 
window, and ail confirmed his supposi- 


the harpsichord w'as closed, the 
music, ordinarily scattered, was united 
in a pile, surmounted by three or four 
volumes which, presupposed that they di- 
minished in size, from the head of a 
pyramid, and a magnificent piece of lace, 
carefully placed with the centre upon 
the back of a chair hung parallel on 
both sides. Besides, this assumption 
w^as soon changed to certainty, for, at 
the sound of his window opening, 
d’Harmental saw the fine head of the 
greyhound, who, with his ears ever on 
the alert, and w’orthy the honor of be- 
ing made the guardian of the house, 
had awakened, and who looked from his 
cushion to see who was he who had 
thus disturbed his slumber. 

From the indiscreet words of the 
good man of the terrace, and the pro- 
longed rancor of Boniface, the cheva- 
lier knew already two important things, 
that is, that his neighbor was named 
Bathilde, a sweet and euphonious appel- 
lation perfectly appropriate to a young 
girl, fair, graceful, and elegant, and that 
the dog was called Mirza, a name which 
to him appeared to hold a rank no less 
distinguished in the aristocracy of the 
canine race. 

But, as nothing must be scorned wFen 
one wishes to be master of a fortress, 
and as the most trifling intelligence 
with the place is often more efficacious 
in forcing a surrender, than the most 
terrible machines of war, d’Harmental 
resolved to commence by making some 
acquaintance with the hound, and in 
the sweetest and most caressing inflec- 
tion of his voice, he called : “ Mirza !” 

Mirza, who was indolently couched 
upon her cushion, quickly raised her 
head with an expression of perfectly in- 
dicated astonishment ; it must have 
really appeared strange to the intelligent 
beast that a man so unknown to her as 
was the chevalier should call her so 
familiarly by her baptismal name; so 
she contented herself with fixing her 
eyes upon him, which, in the twilight 
where she was placed, sparkled like two 
carbuncles, and with uttering a little 

pass for 


murmuring sound which might 
a growl. 

D’Harmental recollected that the 
Marquis d’Uxelle had familiarized him 


TFTR BRIDK OF THE BASTILE. 


59 


self with Mademo’.selle Choni’s spaniel, 
which was a beast much more crabbed 
than all the greyhounds in the world, 
by offering rabbits heads, and that it re. 
suited for him from that delicate atten- 
tion the baton of Marshal of France ; 
he did not despa r then, by a like se- 
duction, of softening the reception which 
Mademoiselle Mirza had made to his ad- 
vances, and he moved towards his sugar- 
bowl singing between his teeth : 

“ Dogs admire power. 

At the court their credit is good: 

And never Marshal of France 

Better merited his baton.” 

Then he returned to the window with 
two lumps of sugar large enough to be 
divided into small morsels. 

The chevalier was not wrong : at the 
first bit of sugar which fell near her, 
Mirza stretched out her neck, then, hav- 
ing, by the odor, understood the nature 
of the allurement which was" offered her, 
she extended her paw, brought it within 
proximity of her mouth, took it at the 
end of her teeth, passed it from the in- 
cisors to the molars, and began to masti- 
cate it with that languid air peculiar to 
the race which she had the honor to be- 
long to. This operation achieved, she 
licked her lips with a little red tongue 
which indicated that, notwithstanding 
her apparent ind fference, which doubt- 
less came from the excellent education 
she had received, she was not insensible 
to the surprise which her neighbor had 
furnished her. So, instead of falling 
back on her cushion as she had the first 
time, she remained seated, gaping with 
langor, but shaking her tail in token 
that she was ready to awake if he would 
pay in her sleep two or three gallantries 
similar to that already disposed of. 

D’Harmental, who had been habitua- 
ted to the manners of the king Charles 
spaniels of the pretty women of that 
day, understood marvellously the 
friendly expressions of Mademoiselle 
Mirza, not wishing time to be given for 
them to cool, he threw a second morsel 
of su<jar, but with the care this time to 
tlirow it far enough from her ihat she 
might be obliged to go in its search. 
This was a test which left upon her the 
proof of two mortal sins, idleness and 


gluttony. Mirza hesitated an instant 
uncertain, but gluttony moved her, and 
she went to the floor of the room to 
seek for the sugar which had rolled un- 
der the harpischord, at this moment a 
third piece fell near the window, and 
Mirza, following the laws of attraction, 
marched from the second to the third, 
as she had gone from the first to the se- 
cond ; but here the chevalier’s liberality 
stopped; he believed he had bestowed 
enough already for it to bring him in 
some returns, and then he called a se- 
cond time, but in a more imperative 
tone than the first time, “ Mirza !” and 
he displayed the other pieces which 
were in the hollow of his hand. 

Mirza, this time, instead of regarding 
the chevalier with scorn and disdain, 
raised herself upon her hind paws, 
placed her paws upon the window ledge, 
and "commenced to make the same 
movements as if he was an old acquaint- 
ance : that was finished, Mirza was fam- 
iliarized. 

The chevalier remarked that he had 
arrived at the same result as a chamber- 
maid is seduced by gold or a duchess by 
diamonds. 

Then he spoke so that Mirza might 
be habituated to his voice. Still, fearing 
the dog might return to distrust, he 
threw a fourth lump of sugar, upon 
which she darted with more activity 
than would have been expected, and 
without being called, she came herself 
to take a place upon the window. 

The chevalier’s triumph was com- 
plete. 

So complete that Mirza, who on the 
morning had given signs of so superior 
an intelligence when she bad indicated, 
by looking into the streets, the return 
of Bathilde, and by running to the door, 
her ascension of the stairs, indicated 
neither one nor the other this time, so 
that her mistress, entering suddenly, 
surprised her in the midst of the en- 
couragements she was making in her 
turn to the chevalier. It is justice to 
say that when the sound of the door 
opening reached her, Mirza turned, and 
recognising Bathilde, made but one 
bound to her, and lavished the most 
lender caresses upon hei- ; but once this 
sort of duty was accomplished, we add, 


60 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


to the shame of the species, Mirza has- 
tened to return to the window. This 
unusual act on her part naturally guided 
Bathilde’s eyes to that direction. Her 
eyes met those of the chevalier. Ba- 
thilde blushed, the chevalier bowed, and 
Bathilde, without knowing what she did, 
returned ihe salutation. 

The first movement of Bathilde was 
to go and close the window'. But an in- 
stinctive sentiment restrained her : she 
saw that it would , give importance to a 
thing which was nothing, and that by 
putting lierself in defence she avowed 
that she believed she would be attacked. 
In consequence, she crossed her chamber 
unaffectedly^ and disappeared in a part 
where her neighbor’s glances could not 
penetrate. Then, in a few seconds’ 
time, when she hazarded a return, she 
saw that it was he who had shut his 
window. Bathilde comprehended the 
discretion of d’Harmental’s action, and 
inwardly thanked him. 

The chevalier had indeed made a 
masterly stroke : in the slightly advanc- 
ed situation he w^as in with his neighbor, 
the two window^, near as they were to 
each other, could not remain open at the 
one time ; for, if it was that of the chev- 
alier open, his neighbor’s must be closed, 
and how hermetically did that unlucky 
window shut ! no means of perceiving 
even the tip of Mirza’s nose behind the 
curtains ; while, on the other hand, if 
d’Karmental’s window was down, it was 
possible his neighbor’s would be open; 
and then lie could see her go, come, la- 
bor : that was a great relief, one would 
think, to a poor fellow, condemned to 
the most absolute seclusion ; besides he 
had made an immense step nearer Bath- 
ilde : he had saluted her, and she had re- 
turned it. They were no more strangers, 
it was a commencement of acquaintance ; 
but for that acquaintance to make a pro- 
gressive march, at least in the particular 
circumstances, he must do nothing rude ; 
risking a word after the salutation w^as 
losing all ; better to lead Bathilde to be- 
lieve that chance had done all. Bathilde 
did not believe it, but without inconve- 
nience slie might have the air of believ- 
ing. It resulted that Bathilde left her 
wondow open, and seeing her neighbor’s 
was closed, siie came to sit by it with a 
book in her hand. 


As for Mirza, she leaped upon the 
stool at the feet of her mistress which 
served her as seat ; but instead of re- 
clining, as was her custom, her head upon 
the young girl’s knees, she placed her- 
self upon the angular border of the win- 
dow, so much was she pre-occupied with 
the generous stranger who thus distribut- 
ed sugar with full hands. 

The chevalier seated himself in a 
corner of his room, took his crayons, 
and designed the delicious picture before 
his eyes. 

Unfortunately those were the short 
days : so, towards three o’clock, the lit- 
tle light which the clouds and the rain 
permitted to descend from the sky to 
the earth began to fail, and Bathilde 
closed her window ; nevertheless, as 
short as was the time, all of the young 
girl’s head was sketched with perfect ac- 
curacy ; there were the undulating locks 
of the young girl, the fine and transpar- 
ent skin, the waving curve of her cygnet- 
like neck, in short there was all that art 
could attain, when the artist has before 
him one of those inimitable models 
which are the despair of artists. 

As night fell, the Abbe Brigand came. 
The chevalier and he enveloped them- 
selves in their mantles, and proceeded 
towards the Palais Royal, they went, as 
one may recollect, to examine the 
ground. 

The house which Madam de Sabran 
had come to reside in since her husband 
was named steward to the Regent, was 
situated No. 22, between the Hotel de 
la Roche Guy on and the passage called 
otherwise the passage of the Palais Roy- 
al, because that passage was the only 
one which communicated from the rue 
des Bons-Enfants to the rue de Valois. 
This passage, which has changed its name 
since that epoch and is called to-day the 
passage of the Lycee, was shut at the 
same time as the other gates of the gar- 
den, that is at eleven o’clock of the eve- 
ning precisely ; it resulted that once en- 
tered within a house of the rue des Bons- 
Enfants, if that house had not a second 
door upon the rue de Valois, those who 
had need, after eleven o’clock, to return 
to the Palais Royal from that house 
were forced to make a turn either by 
the rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs, or by 
ihe Cour des Fontaines. 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


61 


It was thus with Madam de Sabran’s 
house : it was a little mansion built to- 
wards the end of the previous century, 
that is to say twenty or twenty-five 
years proceed ing, by I know not what 
commissioner, who wished to imitate 
the great lords and have like them his 
little mansion. It was composed of a 
ground floor, and a first floor surmount- 
ed by a gallery of stone upon which 
were the attics of the domestics, and ter- 
minated by a low and slightly inclined 
tiled roof ; below the windows of the 
first floor was a large balcony forming 
a projection of three or four feet, and ex- 
tending from one end to the other of the 
house ; only the iron ornaments of the 
balcony were elevated almost to the 
roof, separating the two windows of each 
end from the three windows of the mid- 
dle, as are often done in residences where 
one does not wish to be interrupted by 
exterior communications ; the two fronts, 
were exactly similar ; only as the rue de 
Valois is lower by eight or ten feet than 
that of rue des Bons-Enfants, the win- 
dows and door of the ground floor open- 
ed on that side upon a terrace where a 
little garden was made, which in Spring 
flourished with charming flowers, but 
which did not communicate otherwise 
with the street over which it stood : the 
only entrance and the egress of the man- 
sion opened upon, as we have said, the 
rue des Bons-Enfants. 

This \Vas all as would have been de- 
sired by our conspirators. Indeed, once 
the Regent entered Madam de Sabran’s 
residence, if he came on foot, which was 
possible, and left it after eleven o’clock, 
which was probable, he was taken as 
within a trap, since he must make his 
exit by where he had entered, and since 
nothing was more easy than to capture 
him, as was premeditated, within the 
rue des Bons-Enfants, one of the most 
glooni}^ and deserted streets of the neigh- 
borhood of the Palais Royal. 

Moreover, as at that epoch, so it is to- 
day, this street was full of houses much 
suspected and frequented in general by 
a rather bad company, it was a hundred 
chances to one that no great attention 
would be paid to cries, too frequent in 
that street for any one to be uneasy and 
chat if the watch arrived, it would be, ac- 


cording to the habit of that estimable 
body, so tardy and slow that before its 
intervention all would be already com- 
pleted. 

The inspection of the ground finished, 
stratagetic plans laid out and the num- 
ber of the house taken, d’Harmental and 
the Abbe Brigand separated, the abbe to 
go to the arsenal to render an account 
of the chevalier’s good arrangements, 
and d’Harmental to re-enter his attic 
rue du Temps-perdu. 

As on the preceding night, Bathilde’s 
chamber was lit up ; only this time the 
young girl did not design, but was occu- 
pied with needle-work : at one o’clock of 
the morning the light was extinguished. 
As for the good man of the roof he had 
retired some time before d’Harmental 
had returned. 

The chevalier slept badly. One does 
not find himself between a love which 
commences and a conspiracy which is al- 
most achieved w.thout feeling certain 
sensations unknown to him till then and 
little fiivorable to sleep ; still, towards 
morning fatigue overcame him, and he 
awoke but when he felt his arm shaken 
roughly. Doubtless the chevalier had 
a bad dream at the moment, which the 
shock seemed to be part, for, though yet 
half asleep, he stretched out his hand to 
his pistols which were upon a little 
table. 

“ Eh ! eh !” cried the abbe. “ An in- 
stant, young man ; peste ! Open your 
eyes wider ; well, that is it, do you not 
know me?” 

“Ah, ah!” said d’Harmental laugh- 
ing, “ it is you, Abbe. I’faith ! you did 
right to stop me on the road : 1 dreamed 
they came to ai rest me.” 

“A good sign,” returned the Abbe 
Brigand, “ a good sign ; you know that 
all dreams have a meaning opposed to 
their appearance : all goes well.” 

“ Is there anything new?” demanded 
d’Harmental. 

“ And if something existed, how 
should you receive it?” 

“ Ma foi ! I should be enchanted,” said 
d’Harmental. “ When one undertakes 
such a thing, the sooner it may be finish- 
ed the better.” 

“ Well, then,” said Brigand, drawing 
a paper from his pocket and presenting 


02 


THE GRANGE PLUME ; OR. 


it to the chevalier, read and glorify the 
name ot the Lord, for you have your 
wishes.” 

D’lLirmental took the paper, unf<nd- 
ed it with the same calmness as if it 
was the most insignificant thing, and 
read in a low voice as follows : 

Report of the 27th of March, 2 
o’clock of the morning: 

‘‘ Tfiis night, at ten o’clock, M. le Re> 
gent received a courier from London 
who announced the arrival of the Abbe 
Dubois to-morrow, the 28th. As by 
chance M. le Regent supped with Mj^d- 
am, the despa' ch was remitted to him 
despite the advanced hour.' Some min- 
utes before, Afademoiselle de Chartres 
had demanded of her father permission 
to pay her devotions at the abbey of 
Chelles, and it had been agreed that the 
Regent should conduct her there ; but, 
on the receipt of the letter, that deti^i’- 
mination was changed and M. le Regent 
wrote for the council to assemble to-day 
at mid-day. 

‘‘ At tliree o’clock, le Regent goes 
to salute H s Majesty at the Tuileries; 
be is to demand a private interview, for 
he begins to be impatient at the stub- 
bornness of M. le Marshal de Villeroy, 
who pretends always that it is his duty 
to be present at the conversations of M. 
le Regent and ITis Majesty. ^Coiitt ru- 
mor has it that if the Marshal continues 
his obstinacy, things will turn bad for 
him. 

At six o’clock, M. le Regent, the 
Chi-valier de Simiane and the Chevalier 
de Ravanne will sup with Mad:im de 
Sab ran.” 

‘‘Ah, ah !” said d’Harmental. 

And he re-read the last few lines, 
weighing each ot* the words. 

‘' VV^ell ! what do you think of that 
111 tie paragraph ?” said the abbe. 

The chevalier leaped from his bed, 
put on his morning-robe, took a scarlet 
i-ibbon from a chest of drawer.'^?, picked 
up a hammer and a nail, and having 
opened his window, not without casting 
a glance opposite, he nailed the ribbon 
to the exterior wall. 

“ That is my answer,” said the cheva- 
lier. 


“ What the deuce does that say ?” 

“That says,” returned d’Harm-ental, 
“ that you can announce to Madam la 
Duchess du Maine that I hope to ac- 
complish this evening the promise I 
made her. And now go, my dear Ab- 
be, and return in two hours for I expect 
some one it is not prudent for you to 
meet here.” 

The abbe, w’ho was prudence itself, 
did not require a repetition of the ad 
vice, he took his 'hat, shook the chev 
alier’s hand, and w^ent out hastily. 

Twenty minutes after, Captain Roque- 
finette entered. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE RUE DES BONS-ENFANTS. 

The evening of the same day, which 
was a Sunday, towards eight o'clock, at 
the moment when a considerable 
number of men and women were col- 
lected around a street musician, who 
i:)layed at the same time cymbals with 
his knees and a tabor with his hands, 
and the group closed the entrance of the 
rue de Valois, a musketeer and two 
light-horsemen descended the rear stair- 
case of t^e Palais Royal and made a few 
steps to advance towards the passage of 
the Lycee, which, as we haVe said, opens 
upon that street ; but, seeing the throng 
which almost barred the way, the three 
soldiers stopped and appeared to hold 
council : the result of that deliberation 
was without doubt to take another 
route than that first decided upon ; for 
the musketeer, giving the first ' example 
of a new movement, threaded the Cour 
des Fontaines, turned the corner of the 
rue des Bons-Enfants, and walking at a 
rapid pace, though he was quite corpu- 
lent, he reached number 2‘2, the door 
of which opened like magic at his ap- 
proach and closed behind him and his 
two companions. 

At the moment when they made up 
their mind to make this detour, a young 
man arrayed in a mulberry-colored 
suit, wrapped in a mantle of the same 
color as his apparel, and with a wide- 
brimmed liat pulled down over his eyes, 


THK BIiIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


63 


left the crowd surrounding the musician, 
chanting to himself upon the air of the 
Fendus : ‘^Twenty-four! twenty-four! 
twenty-four !” — and advancing rapidly 
towards the passage of the Lycee, he ar- 
rived at the other extremity just in time 
to see those three illustrious personages, 
of whom we have spoken, enter the 
house. 

Then he glanced around him, and by 
the light of the three lamps which, 
thanks to the munificence of the edile- 
ship, lighted or rather made clear the 
street in all its length, he perceived one 
of those charbonrilers v/ith sooty face, so 
well stereotyped by Greuze, who repos- 
ed before one of the posts of the Hotel 
de la Roche-Giiyoii, upon which he had 
deposited his sack. For an instant he 
appeared to hesitate to approach this 
nniii ; ])Ut the charcoal-man, in his turn, 
having chanted upon the air of the 
Fendus toe same burden which the man 
of the mantle had sung, the latter ap- 
peared to feel no more hesitation, and 
walked straiglit to him. 

“ Well, Captain,” said the man in the 
cloak, “ have y(;u seen them 

“As you saw them, Colonel: a 
musketeer and iwo ligiit-horsemen, but 
1 could not recognise them : only, as 
the musketeer hid h s face in his hand- 
kerchief, 1 presume he is the Regent.” 

“ It is he hijnself, and tlie two light- 
horsemen are Simiane and Ravanne.” 

“ Ah, oh 1 my scholar,” said the cap- 
tain; “1 sliall "be pleased to see him 
again. He is a good child.” 

“At all events, Capta.in, see that he 
does not recognise you.” 

“ Recognise me ! he must be the. 
devil in person to r cognise me as I am 
now. It is you rather, Chevalier, who 
should meditate upon your own words. 
You have the uidbrtimate air of a great 
lord which can be seen by any one with 
your dress; but no matter; now we 
have them in the rat-trap we must not 
let them get out. Our men are caution- 
ed, are they not?” 

“I’faith, your men, Captain, you 
know that 1 recognise them no more than 
they do me. I left the group chanting 
the burden which is our watchword. 
Have they comprehends d ? Have they 
miderstood ? 1 know nothing.” 


“ Be easy. Colonel, they are lads who 
hear a whisper and w ho understand half 
a word.” 

Instantly after the man in the mantle 
had left the throng, a strange fluctuation 
which could not foreseen, had taken 
place in that crowd, wiiich seemed com- 
posed of idle passers-by ; though the 
music was not terminated nor the col- 
lection made. Quite a number of men 
left the isolated circle two by two, and 
making an almost imperceptible sign of 
the hand, some turned by the rue de 
Valois, others by the Cour des Fontain- 
es and even by the P.dais Royal itself, 
commencing to surround the rue des 
Bons-Enfants wFich seemed to be the 
centre of the appointed meeting-place. 

It resulted from this movement, the 
design of it easily comprehended, that 
there remained before the musician but 
ten or t\yelve females, some children and 
a townsman of forty years of age, wFo, 
seeing that the collection had began, 
quitted his place w ith an air of disdain 
for all these new songs, and muttering 
between his teeth an old country song 
which appeared to. rank high above the 
ballads the bad taste of the times had 
brought into fashion : it seemed to the 
good citizen that many men near him 
made certain signs ; but as he did not 
belong to any secret society or masonic 
lodge, he continued his wiiy singing his 
favorite burden : 

“ Let me go, 

Let me iday,' 

Let me go play under the hazel-wood.” 

And after following the rue Saint 
Honore to the barrier des Deux-Ser- 
gents, he turned the corner of the rue 
de Coq. 

At nearly the same instant, the man 
in the mantle, wdio had gone the first 
from the group of auditors singing : 
“ Twenty-four ! tw^enty-four !” re-appear- 
ed below the staircase of the passage of 
the Palais Royal, and approaching the 
town man ; 

“My friend,” said he, “my wife is 
sick and your singing prevents her 
sleeping; if you have no particular 
reason for staying here, here is a half- 
crown to indemnify you for j^oing.” 

“ Thanks, my lord,” replied the singer, 


64 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


divining the social position of the un- 
known by this proof of his generosity, 
“ I will go on the instant. You have 
no objection to the rue MoufFetard 

“ None.” 

Then it is there I will go.” 

And the two separated ; and, as the 
singer was at once the centre and the 
cause of the re-assembling, all who re- 
mained disappeared with him. 

At this moment nine strokes sounded 
from the clock of the Palais Royal. 
The young man in the cloak* drew out 
from his fob a watch, the diamonds of 
which contrasted with his simple cos- 
tume, and as the watch was ten minutes 
too fast, he placed it exactly at the 
hour, then he turned down the Cour des 
Frmtaines, and went into the rue des 
Bons-Enfants. 

On arriving in front of number 24, 
he found the charbonnier, 

‘‘ The singer demanded the latter. 

“ Has gone.” 

‘‘ Good.” 

And the post-chaise ?” asked the 
man in the cloak. 

‘^Waiting at the corner of the rue 
Baillif.” 

“ Care has been taken to bind straw 
on its wheels and on the horses’ feet 

Yes.” 

“Very well. Then wait,” said the 
man in the mantle. 

And all was silent. 

An hour passed, during which some 
belated passers-by traversed the streets 
at more and more distant intervals, and 
the street became deserted. The few 
windows till then lighted up became ex- 
tinguished one after another, and the ob- 
scurity having nothing more to struggle 
against than the lanterns, one of which 
was in front of the Chapel of Saint 
Clara, and the other at the corner of the 
rue Baillif, finished by invading the ter- 
ritory which, for sometime already, it 
claimed. 

Another hour passed ; they heard the 
watch pass the rue de Valois ; behind 
the watch, the guardian of the passage 
came to close the door. 

“Well!” murmured the man of the 
mantle, “ now we are sure- of not being 
molested.” 

“ That is,” added the charcoal-burner, 
“ if he comes out before day.” 


“ If he was alone, I should fear he 
would remain ; but it is not probable 
Madam de Sabran will retain all three.” 

“ She may leave her chamber to one, 
and sleep umder the table with the two 
others.” 

“ Peste ! Are all your precautions 
taken. Captain 1” 

“ All.” 

“ Your men believe it is all for a 
wager 

“ It seems to me they must believe it, 
or they can ask for no money.” 

“ So that is well understood. Captain ! 
you and your men are drunk, you push 
me, I fall between the Regent and who- 
ever of the two givies me his arm, I 
will separate them, you will seize him, 
gag him, and at the §ound of a whistle 
a coach comes up, while they hold Simi- 
ane and Ravanne with a pistol to their 
heads.” 

“ But,” asked the charcoal-burner in a 
lower voice, “ if he calls out his name ?” 

“If he names himself?” returned the 
man of the cloak. Then he added in a 
still lower tone than his companion had 
used : 

“ In conspiracies there are no half- 
measures. If h’e cries out slay him.” 

“ The deuce I” said the charbonnier, 
“ we will try it if he does call out.” 

And as the man in the mantle replied 
nothing, all fell back into' silence. 

A quarter of an hour passed without 
anything new transpiiing. 

Then a light, which came from the 
apartment, illumined the three front 
windows. 

“ Ah, ah 1 something new,” cried at 
the same time the cloaked man and the 
charcoal-burner. 

At this moment, they heard the steps 
of a man who came from the side of 
rue Saint Honore, and who proceeded 
along its whole length : the charbonnier 
muttered a curse through his teeth. 

Still the man came on ; but, either 
the obscurity alone sufficed to frighten 
him, or he had seen something in the 
darkness; it was evident that he expe- 
rienced certain emotiotis. Indeed, when 
opposite to the Hotel, Saint-Clair, em- 
ploying that old devi e of paltroons wFo 
would make themselves believe they had 
no fear, he began singing ; but the more 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


66 


he advances, the more trembling was 
his voice ; and though the innocence of 
his ballad proved the serenity of his 
heart, on arriving in front of the pas- 
sage, his dread was so visible, that he 
commenced to cough, which, in the 
gamut of his terror, indicated one de- 
gree of fright above the song. Still, 
seeing that nothing moved around him, 
he was a little re-assured and, in a 
voice which was more in harmony with 
his present situation than with the sense 
of the words, he resumed : 

“Let me go, 

Let me play, 

Let me — i — “ 

But here he stopped abruptly, not 
only in his ballad, but in his walk, for 
having perceived by the light of the 
windows of the saloon two men standing 
in the shade of a carriage-entrance, he 
felt his voice and his legs fail him at the 
same time, and stopped mute and mo- 
tionless. At the same moment a 
shadow approached the window ; the 
charcoal-burner saw that a cry would 
defeat all plans, and he made a move- 
ment to rush at the passer-by : the man 
in the mantle restrained him. 

“ Captain,” said he, do no harm to 
ihe man — ” Then going to him : Pass 
on, my friend,” said he, but go prompt- 
ly and do not look behind you.” 

The singer needed no second remind- 
er, and gained the use of his limbs as 
quickly as he liad lost their power, and 
in a few seconds he had disappeared, by 
the angle of the Hotel de Toulouse. 

It was time,” muttered the charbon- 
nier, “ see the window is opened.” 

The two men fell back more into the 
gloom. 

In fact the window was opened and 
one of the light-horsemen advanced 
upon the balcony. 

Well !” said, in the interior of the 
apartment, a voice which the charbon- 
nier and the man in the mantle recog- 
nized for that of the Regent ; “ well ! 
Simiane, how is the weather 1” 

“ I think that it snows,” replied Simi- 
ane. 

“How ! you think it snows ?” 

“ Or it may rain ; I know not,” con- 
tinued Simiane. 


“ What, double brute,” s lid Ravanne, 
“you cannot distinguish what falleT* 
and he came in his turn to the window. 

“ After all,” said Simiane, “ I am not 
so sure that anything falls.” 

“ He is dead drunk,” said the Regent. 

“ I,” said Simiane, wounded in his 
self-love, I dead drunk ! Come here, 
my lord, come, come !” 

Though the invitation was made in a 
rather strange manner, the Regent camo 
to join his two companions, laughing. By 
his step one could see he himself was 
overheated. 

“ Ah ! dead drunk,” resumed Simiane 
extending his hand to the prince, “ dead 
drunk ! Well, touch here ; I will wager 
a hundred louis that all Regent of France 
as you are, you cannot do what I do.” 

“ You hear, my lord,” said a feminine 
voice frora the interior of the room, 
“ that is a challenge.” 

“ And as such I accept it. Come, for 
one hundred louis.” 

“ I am half with either of you who 
will,” said Ravanne. 

“ Bet with the Marchioness,” said 
Simiane ; “ I wish no one in my game.” 

“ Nor I,” said the Regent. 

“ Marchioness,” cried Ravanne, “ fifty 
louis against a kiss.” 

“Ask Philip if he will permit me to 
take it.” 

“ Hold,” said the Regent, “ hold ; it is 
a golden bargain and you can but win it. 
Well, where are you, Simiane ]” 

“ I am here. Will you follow me V* 

“ What would you do 

“ Look.” 

“ Where the deuce are you going?” 

“ I return to the Palais Royal.” 

“ By where ?” 

“ By the roofs.” 

And Simiane, grasping the species of 
fan of ironwork which we have described 
as separating the windows of the saloon 
from those of the sleeping chamber, be- 
gan climbing up it in the manner of a 
monkey who at the end of a cord as- 
cends to a third floor of a house for a 
sou. 

“ My lord,” cried Madam de Sabrau, 
darting to the balcony and seizing the 
prince by the arm, “1 hope you will not 
follow.” 

“ I shall not follow him ?” said the Re- 


66 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


gent, shaking off the Marchioness ; “ do 
you not know that I have for principle 
that all that one can do can be accom- 
plished by another? Let him mount to 
the moon, and the devil carry me away ! 
if I do not knock at the door at the 
same time as he. Are you coming with 
me, Ravanne ?” 

“ Yes, my prince,” replied the young 
man laughing with all his heart. 

Well then, embrace, you have gain- 
ed.” 

And the Regent grasped in his turn 
the iron bars, ascending behind Simiane, 
who, agile, thin and long, was but an in- 
stant in gaining the roof. 

“ But 1 hope you at least will remain, 
Ravanne,” said the Marchioness. 

** Only tinjie to collect my stake,” re- 
sponded the young man, applying his 
lips to the fair fresh cheeks of Madam 
de Sabran ; “ and now,” continued he, 

adieu. Madam la Marchioness, I am 
the Regent’s page, you comprehend I 
must follow him.” 

And Ravanne darted up the hazardous 
path which his two companion^ had al- 
ready taken. 

The charbonnier and the cloaked man 
let escape an exclamation of astonish- 
ment which was repeated throughout 
the entire street, as if every door had 
its echo. 

Eh ! what was that ?” said Simiane, 
who, being the first upon the roof, was 
more free than those who still mounted. 

‘‘ See, double drunkard !” said the Re- 
gent, placing one hand on the gutter of 
the top of the house, ‘^it is the watch, 
and you will have us taken to thegu ird- 
house ; but I promise you that 1 shall 
iK)t let you escape.” 

At these words, those in the street 
having heard them, it was hoped that the 
duke and his companions w. uld not 
push the prank farther, and that they 
would descend and leave by the ordinary 
way. 

** Ah ! here am I,” said the Regent 
standing upon the roof ; have you had 
enough, Simiane ?” 

** No, my lord, no,” replied Simiane, 
and whispering in Ravanne’s ear, that 
is not the watch, not a bayonet, not a 
sword.” 


What is it then ?” demanded the 
Regent, overhearing him. 

“ Nothing,” responded Simiane mak- 
ing a sign to Ravanne, nothing, accord- 
ingly 1 will continue my ascension ; and 
this time, my lord, I invite you to fol- 
low.” 

And extending his hand to the Regent, 
he commenced to scale the roof, pulling 
him after him, while Ravanne pushed 
from behind. 

At this sight, as there was no doubt 
of the intentions of the fugitives, the 
charcoal-burner uttered a malediction 
and the man in the mantle a cry of rage. 
At this moment Simiane clutched the 
chimney. 

“ Eh, eh !” said the Regent, striding 
the roof and looking into the street, 
where, in the midst of the rays of light 
thrown from the windows of the saloon 
remaining open, they could see eight or 
ten men, “ what have we here? a little 
plot? Ah, they are furious, they would 
enter the house. 1 would like to ask 
what one can do for their service.” 

“No jesting, my lord,” said Simiane, 
“ up, on foot.” 

“ Turn by the rue Saint Honore,” 
cried the man in the cloak. “ Forward, 
forward !” 

“It is well for us they do, Simiane,” 
said the Regent, “ quick to the other side. 
Retreat, retreat !” 

“ I do not know what stays me,” said 
the cloaked man, drawing a pistol from 
his girdle and aiming at the Regent, 
“ but I could knock him off like a popin- 
jay in a shoo ting- match.” 

“ A thousand devils,” said the char- 
bonnier, stopping his hand, “ you will 
destroy us all.” 

“ But, what is there to do?” 

“ Wait, they may tumble off and break 
their necks ; either Providence is not 
just or it managed this little surprise for 
us.” 

“ Oh, what an idea ! Roquefinette.” 

“ Eh ! Colonel, no proper names, if 
you please.” 

“ You are right, pardon.” 

I have an idea.” 

“ To me, to me 1” cried the man in the 
mantle, rushing into the passage ; 
“ break in the door, and we will take 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


67 


them on the other side, when they leap 
down.” 

And those of his comrades who re- 
mained followed him : the others, to the 
number of five or six were on the way 
to turn by the rue Saint Honore. 

Come, come, my lord, not a minute 
to lose,” said Simiane, slipping down on 
his back : “it is not noble, but it is 
safe.” 

“ 1 believe I hear them in the passage,” 
said the Regent; “ what do you think, 
Ravanne ?” 

“1 think of nothing, my lord,” 

And all three descended with equal 
rapidity down the inclination of the roof 
to the terrace, 

“ In here, in here,” said a woman’s 
voice, at the moment when Simiane be- 
strode the parapet of the terrace to de- 
scend the length of his iron ladder: 

“ Ah ! that is you. Marchioness,” said 
the Regent. “ Ma foi ! you are a woman 
of succor.” 

“ Leap in here and descend quickly,” 

The three fugitives sprung from the 
terrace into the room. 

“ Had you not better remain here ?” 
demanded Madam de Sabran. 

“ Yes,” said Ravanne, “ 1 will go for 
Canillac and the night-watch.” 

“No, no,” said the Regent; “they 
will break into the house, Marchioness, 
and they will treat you as in a town tak- 
en by assault. No, let us gain the Pal- 
ais Royal, that will be better.” 

And they swiltly descended the stairs ; 
Ravanne the first opening the garden 
gate. There, they heard the desperate 
blows of their pursuers striking against 
the iron grating. 

“Strike, strike, my good friends,” 
said the Regent, running with the activ- 
ity and recklessness of a young man to 
the extremity of the garden. “ The grate 
is solid, and that will give you work.” 

“ Be quick, my lord,” cried Simiane, 
who from his form being long had hung 
by his arms and dropped from the ter- 
race; “ see them running at the end of 
the rue de Valois. Put your foot on my 
shoulder — there — the other — now let 
yourself fall into my arms. You are 
saved, thank God !” 

“ Sword in h ind, Ravanne ! let us 
charge these rascals,” said the Regent. 


“ In heaven’s name, my lord,” cried 
Simiane, “follow us. What you are 
about to do is folly. To me, Ravanne, 
to me !” 

And the two, each taking an arm of 
the duke, dragged him through one of 
the passages to the Palais Royal which 
are always open, at the very moment 
even when those who ran by the rue de 
Valois were not twenty paces from them, 
and when the door of the passage yielded 
to the efforts of the second troop ; ail 
the band united came rushing to the 
grating at the same moment when the 
three noblemen shut it behind them. 

“ Genclemen,” said the Regent, sa- 
luting them with his hand, for the hat, 
God knows where it rested ! “ I wish, 
for your heads, that -all this may be a 
joke, for you attack those stronger than 
you ; and beware to-morrow of the 
lieutenant of police ! the meantime good 
night !” 

And a triple burst of laughter added 
to the petrifaction of the conspirators, 
standing by the grate at the head of 
their breathless companions. 

“That man must have abend with 
Satan,” cried d’Har mental. 

“We have lost the wager, my friends,” 
said Roquefinette to his men, who 
awaited his orders. “ But it is only 
put off. As for the promised sum, you 
have already fingered the half ; to-mor- 
row where you know, for the rest. 
Good night. [ shall be to-morrow at 
the meeting-place.” 

All the men dispersed, the two lead- 
ers remaining alone. 

“ Well, Colonel ?” said Roquefinette, 
stretching his leffs and looking at d’Har- 
mental full in the eyes. 

“ Well Captain,” replied the cheva- 
lier, “ I am anxious to speak of one 
thing to you.” 

“ Of what ?” demaded Roquefinette. 

“ It is to follow me to some cross 
way, to blowout my brains with a pistol, 
for this miserable head must be punish- 
ed and must not be recognized.” 

“ And why that V’ 

“ Why ? because in such a matter, 
if one is checked, one is but a fool. 
What can I say to the Duchess du 
Maine now ?” 

“ What ?” said Roquefinette,” it is of 


68 


THE ORANGE rEU.\IK ; OR, 


that Bibi^Gongon-h that you are uneasy. 
Ah, well, pardieu I you are very sus- 
ceptible, Colonel. Why the devil did 
not her ciipple of a husband do these 
things himself? 1 should like to see 
your haughty lady, with her two mar- 
<juises trembling with fear in a corner 
of the Arsenal, while we are masters of 
the battle-field ; I should like t6 see 
them climbing after them like lizards 
over the wall. Stop, Colonel, listen to 
an old fox ; to be a good conspirator, it 
is above all necessary to have courage, 
and also, what, you have not, patience. 
’Sblood ! if I had an affair like this on 
my hands, I’ll answer for it I would car- 
ry it on better: and if you — We will 
converse of that another time.” 

But, in my place,” demanded the 
Colonel, ‘‘ what would you do to Mad- 
am du Maine?” 

‘‘ What ? I would say ; ‘ My princess, 
the Regent must have been warned by 
his police, for he did not go out, and we 
have only seen his rascally rakes, whom 
we caught in exchange’. Then Prince 
Cellamare will tell you. ‘Deard’Har- 
mental, we have no resource but in 
you;’ Madam la Duchess will say: 
‘Allis not lost since the brave d’Har- 
mental remains.’ Count Laval will 
shake your hand, and will also attempt 
to pay you a compliment which he can- 
not finish, seeing that as his jaw is bro- 
ken it is not easy to speak, especially to 
make compliments Cardinal Polignac 
will make the sign of the cross ; Albe- 
roni will swear enough to make the sky 
tremble* In that manner you will con- 
ciliate all, and your self-love is saved ; 
you will return to hide yourself in your 
attic, from which you will not go for 
some days unless you wish to be hung ; 
from time to time I will visit you ; you 
will continue to share with me the liber- 
ality of Spain, because 1 must live agree- 
ably and sustain my character ; then at 
the first occasion, we shall recal our 
brave men and take our revenge.” 

“ Yes, certainly,” said d’Harmental, 
seeing as the other did, “ but. Captain, I 
have foolish ideas, I know not how to 
lie.” 

“ He who cannot lie, cannot act,” re- 
turned the captain, “ but what is that I 
see down there? the bayonets of the 


watch? Admirable institu ion,” said 
the captain, “ I recognize them in that, 
always a quarter of an hour to late^ 
But no matter we must separate. 
Adieu, Colonel, there is your road,” con- 
tinued the captain pointing out the pas- 
sage of the Palais Royal to the cheva- 
lier, “ and here is mine,” added he, ex- 
tending his hand in the direction of the 
rue Neuve-des-Petits-Champs. Come, 
be calm, go you on in little steps so 
that no one will think you are running 
at full speed. Hand upon the hip thus, 
and singing Mother Gaudichon.” 

And while d’Harmental entered the 
passage, the captain followed the rue de 
Valois at the same pace as the watch, 
of which he was a hundred paces in ad- 
vance, and sung with as perfect a care 
lessness as if nothing had occurred : 

“ Hold well to the campaign, 

France values it as nothing; 

And the bright doubloons of Spain 
Are of a most ‘ most Christian’ gold.’' 

As for the chevalier, he returned to 
the rue des Bons-Enfants, which was 
now as tranquil as it had been noisy 
ten minutes before, and at a corner of 
the rue Baillif he found the carriage, 
which, faithful to his instructions, had 
not stirred, and which waited with open 
door, the footmen behind, and the 
coachman upon the box. 

“ To the Arsenal,” said the chevalier. 

“ It is useless,” replied a voice which 
made d’Harmental shudder, “ I know 
how all has passed, since I saw it ; a 
visit at this hour would be dangerous to. 
everybody.” 

“ Ah ! that is you, Abbe,” said 
d’Harmental, endeavoring to recognize 
Brigand under the livery. “ Well, you 
will render me a veritable service by 
speaking in my place ; may the devil 
fly away with me if I know what to 
say.” 

“ While 1 say,” said Brigaud, “ that 
you are a brave and loyal gentleman, 
and that if there were only ten like you 
in France, all would soon be finished. 
But we are not here to compliment 
each other. Enter quickly.” 

“ It is no use,” said d’Harmental, “ I 
shall go well enough on foot.” 

“ Mount, it will be safer.” 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


69 


D’Harinental entered, and Brigand, 
still attired as a footman, placed him- 
self by hi ll unceremoniously. 

*^To the corner of the rue du Gros- 
Ghenet and the rue du Clery,” said the 
abbe. 

The coachman, impatient at having 
had to wait so long, immediately obey- 
ed, and the vehicle stopped at tlie indi- 
cated place ; the chevalier descended, 
threaded the rue du Gros-Chenet and 
soon disappeared around the angle of 
the rue du Temps-perdu. 

As for the coach, it rapidly continued 
its course towards the boulevard, roll- 
ing without the least sound, and like a 
fantastic car which did not touch the 
earth. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE GOOD MAN BUVAT. 

Now, with our readers permission, 
we will furnish them with ample know- 
ledge of (me of the principal personages 
of the history we have undertaken to 
recount, a personage of whom we have 
as yet given but a passing notice. We 
would speak of the citizen whom we first 
saw quit the group in the rue de Valois 
and direct his steps towards the Barrier 
des Sergents at the moment when the 
musician began his collection, and who, 
it may be recollected, we have after- 
wards seen, in so unseasonable a mo- 
ment, traverse later the whole of the 
rue des Bons-Enfants. 

God preserve us from calling the in- 
telligence of our readers in question on 
the point of doubting fora single instant 
that they have not recognized in the poor 
fellow, to whom the Chevalier d’Har- 
mental had come so opportunely, the 
man oF the garden of the rue Temps- 
perdu. But that which they cannot 
know without we recount it with some 
detail is what physically, morally, and 
socially concerns the poor fellow. 

If any one lias forgotten the little we 
have said until the present occasion on 
his part, we must repeat that he was a 
man of forty or forty-five years of age. 
Our citizen was a small man, five feet 


in height, snort and fat, disposed to 
obesity as he advanced in age, and bear- 
er of one of those placid countenances 
where everything, hair, eye-brows, eyes 
and skin, seem to be of the same color ; 
one of those countenances, in short, 
which at ten paces distance, not a fea- 
ture could be distinguished. 

We add that Providence, which never 
does things by half, had assigned to the 
original whose copy we offer our readers 
the characteristic name of Jean Buvat. 
It is true that the persons who had ap- 
preciated the profound mullity of spirit 
and the excellent qualities of the heart 
of the man ordinarily suppressed the 
surname and called him simply the good 
man Buvat. 

From his most tender youth, the little 
Buvat, who manifested a marked repug- 
nance to all species of study, had a nat- 
ural aptitude for calligraphy. So he 
arriveci every morning at the College of 
the Oratoriens, where his mother sent 
him gratis, with themes and versions, 
full of faults yet written with a neatness, 
and a regularity which was pleasing to 
see. It resulted that little Buvat regu- 
larly rec ived all his days the rod for 
the idleness of his mind, and every year 
the writing medal for the skill of his 
hand. When fifteen, he passed the 
Epitome .sacro^,which he had commenced 
five times, for the Epitome Graces ; but 
at his first versions, the professors per 
ceived that he was unequal to his tasks 
and they sent him for the sixth time to 
the Epitome saerse. 

Passive as he appeared to be from his 
exertion, young Buvat had at bottom a 
certain pride ; he returned that evening 
to his mother weeping, complained to 
her of the injustice they had done him, 
and declared in his grief a thing which 
he had taken care not to avow t.ll then; 
that is that in his class there were chil- 
dren of ten years who were further ad- 
vanced than him. 

Madam Buvat ran the next day to the 
fathers. The latter told her that her 
son was a good lad, incapable of a bad 
thought to God, or a bad act to liis com- 
rades ; but that he was at the same 
time of so formidable a stupidity that 
they counselled her to develop, by mak- 
ing him a writing-master, the only ta- 


70 


THK ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


lent which it appeared that nature, in 
her avarice towards him, had consented 
to endow him. 

This cpunsel was a ray of light upon 
widow Buvat. She returned to her 
house and communicated to young 
Buvat the new plaps for the future she 
had formed. Buvat saw but a means of 
escaping the ferules and castigation he 
had received all his days. He w^elcomed 
his mother’s words with the greatest 
joy, promised her that before six months 
he would be the hrst writing-master in 
the capital, and the same day even, after 
having, from his little economized sums, 
bought a four bladed penknife, a bunch 
of quills, and two quires of paper, he 
set to work. 

The good oraioriens were not de- 
ceived upon the veritable vocation of 
young Buvat : calligraphy was to him 
an art almost reaching design. At the 
end of six months, like the prince 
transformed to an ape in the Arabian 
Nights, he could write six different 
styles, and imitate all sorts of human 
figures, trees and animals. He had 
made such progress at the end of a year 
that he was convinced he could write his 
prospectus. He labored for three 
months, day by day, night by night, and 
almost losing his eyesight ; but it is 
just to say that at the end of that period 
he had accomplished a masterpiece re- 
presenting the Creation of the World. 

This tableau produced the desired ef- 
fect eight days after, young Buvat had 
five male and two female scholars. 

This class augmented, and Madam 
Buvat, after some years past in a supe- 
rior situation than even when her hus- 
band was living, had the satisfiiction of 
dying perfectly re-assured upon the fu- 
ture of her son. 

After having wept for his mother, he 
pursued his course of life, each evening 
coming as calmly as the next one. He 
thus attained the age of twenty-six or 
twenty-seven years, having crossed, 
within the eternal quiet of his innocent 
and virtuous good-humor, that stormy 
period of life. 

This was the time when the brave 
man found the occasion to do a sublime 
action, one which he did instinctively. 
Perhaps a man of spirit w’ould have 


passed by without perceiving it, or he 
would have turned his head away if he 
had. 

There was then on the first floor of 
the house No. 6 rue des Orties, of which 
Buvat modestly occupied an attic, a young 
family who were the admiration of the 
whole quartier from the harmony with 
which husband and wife lived together. 
The husband was a man of thirty-four 
or thirty-five years, having hair, eyes, 
and beard black, of swarthy complexion, 
and with teeth like pearls. His name 
w^as Albc'rt du Roclier, he was the son 
of an old Cevenal cliief who had been 
forced to the Catholic faith as well as 
his family from the persecutions of M. 
de Baville, and he had entered the 
Duke de Chartres’ household as equerry. 
The duke having at that time to fill up the 
vacancies in his house which bad suffer- 
ed greatly in the preceding campaign at 
the Battle of Steinkirk. Du Rocher 
had obtained the place of La Neuville, 
his predecessor, who had been slain in 
that charge of the King’s household, 
which, headed by the Duke de Chartres, 
had decided the victory. 

The winter had interrupted the cam- 
paign ; but on the spring arriving, M. 
de Luxembourg recalled to him all those 
officers who shared the year, at that 
time, six months of war and six of 
pleasure. The Duke de Chartres, ever 
ardent to draw a sword which the jeal- 
ousy of Louis XIV. so often pushed 
back into the sheatli, was one of the 
first to answer that call. Du Rocher 
followed him with all his military house- 
hold. 

The great day of Nerwiude arrived. 
The Duke de Chaitres had as customary 
the command of the household ; as usual 
he charged at their head butso furiously 
that he remained, in these different 
charges, five times nearly alone in the 
miJst of enemies. At the fifth time he 
had near him a young man whom he 
slightly knew and whom he saw at a 
glance he could rely upon, and, instead 
of surrendering,as he proposed, to an ene- 
my’s brigadier who had recognized him, 
he shot him through the head with a 
pistol. At the same instant, two shots 
were fired,, one of which struck the prin- 
ce’s hat, and the other flattened against 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


71 


his sword-hilt ; but scarcely had those 
two reports ceased sounding than those 
who had firei the pistols fell almost si- 
multaneously, overthrown by the prin- 
ce’s companion, one by a sword-cut, the 
other by a pistol-shot. A general dis- 
charge whistled around the two men 
though fortunately — or rather miracu- 
lously — neither of them were hit by a 
bullet; but the prince’s horse, being 
mortally wounded in the head, fell un- 
der him ; thti young man who accompa- 
nied him instantly leaped from his steed 
and otFered it to him. The prince made 
some remonstrances against his accep- 
tance of the service, which w^as likely to 
cost so dear to the one who made it; 
but the young man, thinking it not a time 
for exchanges of politeness and being 
strong, took up the prince in his arms 
and, whether he would or no, placed 
him in the saddle. At this moment, M. 
d’Arcv, at the head of a detachnjent of* 
light-horse, penetrated to them at a time 
when, despite their courage, the two 
would have been slain or captured. 
Both were' without wounds though the 
prince had received four balls in his 
clothing. The Duke de Chartres then 
extended his hand to his companion and 
asked his name, for though his face was 
known to him he had been so short a 
period in his service that he could not 
recall his name. The young man repli- 
ed that he was called Albert du Rocher 
and that he filled by him as equerry 
the position of La Neuville, slain at 
Steinkirk. Then turning to those who 
were around him : “ Messieurs,” said the 
prince, it is you who prevented my 
being captured ; but,” added he denoting 
du Rocher, “ here is the one who pre- 
vented my beiftg slain.” 

At the end- bf the campaign, the Duke 
de Chartres named du Rocher his first 
'master of horse, and three years after he 
gave to him in marriage a young per- 
son w hum he loved, charging himself 
with her dowry. Unfortunately as the 
Duke de Chartres was but a young man 
at that time, the dower could not be 
large, but in exchange he promised the 
advancement of his protege. 

This young person was of English 
origin, her mother had accompanied 
Madam Henrietta fo France when she 


had come to espouse the King of 
France’s brother, and after the poison- 
ing of that princess by the Chevalier 
d’ Lffiat, she had passed into the service 
of the dauphiness as tire-woman ; but in 
1690, the dauphiness died and the Eng- 
lishwoman had retired to a little coun- 
try-house near Saint Cloud, to deliver 
herself entirely up to tlie education of 
her little Clarice, employing for that 
education the annuity which the munifi- 
cence of the dauphiness had bestowed 
upon her. It was in the visits of the 
Duke de Chartres to Saint Cloud, that 
du Roc'ier made the acquaintance of this 
young girl, with whom the Duke de* 
Chartres united him in marriage as pre- 
viously said. 

It was then these young people who 
occupied the first floor of the house No. 
6 rue des Ortis, of which Buvat rented 
an attic. 

They had first a son whose calligraphic 
education, at the age of f )ur years was 
confided to Buvat. The young child 
made great progress until he was sud- 
denly carried off by the measles. The 
grief of the parents was shared by Buvat 
who was sincerely pained the more as 
his scholar had promised the most pleas^ 
ant disposition. This sympathy for 
their sorrow, from a stranger, attached 
them to him, and one day when the good 
man complnined of his precarious living, 
Albert du Rocher -proposed to use his 
influence to obtain him a place at the 
lil)rary. Buvat bounded with joy at the 
idea of becoming a public functionary. 
The same day he wrote his petition in 
his finest style ; the equerry seconded 
it warrrdy, and a month afterwards, 
Buvat received an appointment at the 
Royal Library, section of manuscripts, 
with a salary of nine hundred livres. 

On that day, Buvat, whose natural 
pride inspired him at his social elevation 
forgot his scholars. Nine hundred livres 
assured to him until the end of his life 
was a fortune and the worthy penman, 
thanks to the royal bounty, passed days 
of joyfulness, ever promising to his good 
neighbors that if they had a second child 
they >'-hould allow no on;*, than he, Jean 
Buvat, to teach it writing. Towards 
the end of the year 1702, Clarice had 
another child. 


72 


THE QRANGE PLUME ; OR, 


There was great joy throughout the 
house. Buvat ran up the stairs, clap- 
ping his hands and singing the burden 
of his favorite ditty : “ Let me go, let 
me play,” etc. That day, for the first 
time since he had been appointed, that 
is since two years, he arrived at his desk 
at a r|uarter past ten o’clock instead of 
ten precisely. A supernumerary, who 
believed him dead, had applied for his 
poet. 

Little Bathilde was scarcely eight days 
old ere Buvat wished to give her a less- 
on, saying that it is always best to begin 
in youth. It required all the argu- 
ments in the world to make him com- 
prehend that he must wait until she was 
two or three years older. He w’as re- 
signed : but, while waiting, he prepared 
copies. At the end of three years, Clar- 
ice gave him permission and Buvat had 
the satisfaction of solemnly placing in 
Bathilde’s hands the first pen she had 
touched. 

It was now the commencement of 
1707, and the Duke de Chartres, becom- 
ing Duke of Orleans by the death of the 
King’s brother, had obtained a command 
in Spain where he was to lead the troops 
to Marshal Berwick. Orders were in- 
stantly given to all of his military house- 
hold to be ready by the fifth of March. 
As master of the horse, Albert must 
liave necessarily accompanied the prince. 
This newrs, which at any other time 
would have been welcomed wdth jo}^ 
was painful to him at that time for Clar- 
ice’s health had been bad and the phy- 
sician had let escape the words pulmon- 
ary consumption. Either Clarice felt 
herself greviously attacked or, rather 
and more natural still, she feared only 
for her husband, her sorrow was so 
great that Albert wept with her. Little 
Bathi»lde and Buvat wept because they 
saw them doing so. 

The fifth of March arrived — the day 
fixed for the departure. Clarice feeling 
proud of her husband wished him to be 
worthy of the prince he accompanied. 

in the midst of her tears a ray of joy 
illuminated her countenance when she 
saw Albert in his elegant uniform and 
upon his war-horse. The poor wmman 
smiled mournfull y upon Albert’s dreams 
of the future ; but not w^ishing to sadden 


him she imprisoned her sorrow in her 
ow'n breast and she thought not of herself 
but of his honor. 

The Duke of Orleans and his troops 
entered Catalonia in the first days of 
April and pushed on by forced marches 
across Arragon. On arriving at Sego- 
via, the duke was apprised that Marshal 
de Berwick was to give a decisive bat- 
tle, and in the desire that he had to ar- 
rive in time to take, part in the action, 
he sent Albert as courier with the com- 
mission to say to the Marshal that the 
Duke of Orleans w^as coming to liis aid 
with ten thousand men and that he beg- 
ged him if it were not contrary to his 
dispositions to wa't for him. 

Albert departed ; but, misled in the 
mountains by faithless guides, he preced- 
ed the army but by a day and arrived 
at Berwick’s camp at the very moment 
when he was engaged in the combat. 
They pointed out to Albert on the left 
of the army w'here the Duke de Berwick 
was in the middle of his staff. Albert 
galloped straight to him. 

The messenger explained the cause of 
the mission. The marshal, for answer, 
pointed to the battle field and told iiim 
to return to the prince and say w’hat he 
had seen. But Albert ha'i respired the 
odor of gunpowder and would not go 
thus. He asked permission to remain, 
that he might announce at least the vic- 
tory. The marshal consented. At this 
moment, a dargoon charge appeared 
necessary to the general-in-chief and he 
had commanded one of his aid-de-camps 
to bear to the colonel the order to charge. 
The young man galloped off but scarce- 
ly had he accomplisned a third of the re- 
quired distance than a cannon-ball car- 
ried aw-ay his head. Hew^as still in the 
stirrups wdien Albert, seizing that occa- 
sion to take part in the action, spurred 
Ills horse, transmitted the order to the 
colonel, and instead of returning to the 
marshal, drew his sword and charged at 
the head of the regiment. 

This charge was one of the most bril 
liant of the day, and it penetrated deep 
ly w'ithin the hearts of the imperialists 
and the enemy wav('red. The marshal, 
despite himself, had follow^ed w'itli his 
eyes, through the midst of the hottest of 
tlic act. on, this young officer w’ho could 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


73 


be distinguished by his uniform. He 
saw him reach the enemy’s color, en- 
gage in a hand-to-hand struggle with him 
who bore it, then, as the regiment re- 
treated, he saw Albert returning to him 
holding his conquest in his arms. On 
arriving before the marshal, he threw 
the flag at his feet, opened his mouth as 
if to speak, but, instead of words, a rush 
of blood came to his lips. The marshal 
seeing him reel in the stirrups advanced 
to sustain him ; bui, before he could 
bring him aid, Albert had fallen : a ball 
had entered his breast. 

The marshal leaped from his horse, 
but the courageous young man had died 
upon the flag he had conquered. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE GOOD MAN BUVAT. 

The Duke of Orleans arrived the day 
after the battle ; he regretted Albert as 
one regrets a spirited man; but after 
all, he had died the death of the brave, 
he had died in the midst of a victory, he 
had fallen upon the colors he had cap- 
tured : what more could be asked for a 
Frenchman, a soldier, a gentleman. 

Tlie Duke of Orleans had v^^ritten a 
letter with his own hand to the widow. 
If anything would console a woman 
upon the death of her husband, it was 
such a thing. But poor Clarice saw but 
one thing : that she had no more a hus- 
band, and that Bathilde had a father no 
more. 

At four o’clock, Buvat returned from 
the Library : they said that Clarice 
asked for him : he instantly descended. 
The poor woman had ceased weeping, 
she was without words, without tears ; 
her eyes were fixed and hollow as those 
of a maniac. As Buvat entered she 
neither turned, imr turned her head, but 
was, content to hold out her hand with 
the letter. 

Buvat looked from right to left with a 
stupilied air not knowing what was in 
question : then meeting with nothing to 
direct his conjectures, he carried his eyes 
to the paper, and read in a high voice : 


Madam : 

‘‘ Your husband is dead for 
France and for me. Neither France nor 
I can give you back your husband; but 
recollect that if ever you have need of 
anything we are boih your debtors. 

Your affectionate, 

Philippe d’Orleans.” 

“ What !” exclaimed Buvat, with his 
eyes upon Clarice, ‘‘M. du Rocherl not 
possible !” 

‘‘ Is papa dead?” said little Bathilde 
coming from a corner, where she had 
been playing with her dull, to her mo- 
ther. “ Mamma, is it true that papa is 
dead?” 

“ Alas ! alas ! yes, my dear child,” 
cried Clarice recovering at once her 
words and tears, “ Oh ! unfortunates 
that we are ?” 

“ Madam,” said Buvat, who had not 
great consolations in his imagination, 
“ you must not feel so : perhaps it is 
false news.” 

“ Do you not see the letter is from 
the Duke of Orleans himself?” cried the 
poor widow. “ Yes, my child, yes, 
yoirr father is dead ! Weep, weep, my 
child ! perhaps on seeing your tears 
God may have pity.” 

On hearing tlte words of the poor 
woman Buvat felt it almost as much to 
heart as she did ; but his fright was 
augmented when he saw that the hand- 
kerchief she had touched her mouth 
with was full of blood. Then he com- 
prehended that the misfortune that had 
happened was not perhaps the only or 
the greatest which menaced little Ba- 
thilde. 

The apartment which Clarice occu 
pied had become too large for her, so no 
one was surprised to see her quit it for 
one on the second floor. 

Besides the grief which in Clarice, 
had absorbed all the other faculties, 
there is in all noble hearts a certain re- 
pugnance to solicit, even of the country, 
the recompense of the blood shed for it, 
above all when that blood was yet 
warm as was Albert’s. The poor widow 
hesitated upon presenting herself before 
the Minister of War and demanding 
her rights. The result was that when 
in three months’ time she would have 


74 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


ma.de her demands, the taking of Re- 
quena and the capture of Sarragossa 
had already made the Battle of Al- 
manza be forgotten. Clarice showed 
the prince’s letter : the minister’s se- 
cretary said that anything could be ob- 
tained with such a letter, but that she 
must wait the return of his Highness. 
Clarice regarded her wan visage in the 
glass and smiling sadly. “Wait!” 
said she; “yes, that will be better, I 
am convinced, but God knows if 1 shall 
have time.” 

This blow caused Clarice to remove 
from the second to the third floor, 
the little dowry the duke had given had 
disappeared in the purchase of furniture 
and her husband’s equipments. As the 
new lodging she took was' much smaller 
than the other, it is nojf astonishing that 
Clarice sold the superfluity of her move- 
ables. 

The return of the Duke of Orleans 
was expected at the end of autumn, and 
Clarice counted upon that return to 
ameliorate her situation ; but against all 
the strategetic customs of that epoch, 
the army, instead of going into its 
winter quarters, continued the campaign, 
and they apprised her that instead of 
preparing to return, the Duke ot Or- 
leans was preparing to besiege Lorida. 
But, in 1647, the great Conde himself 
had been checked at Lorida, so this new 
siege, even supposing that its issue was 
successful, promised to be frightfully 
long. 

Clarice risked some new demands : 
this time they had already forgotten her 
husband’s name. She had recourse 
again to the prince’s letter : this had its 
ordinary effect, but they replied that 
after the siege of Lorida the duke would 
not tail to return : the poor widow was 
forced to take patience again. 

Only she left her two chambers to 
take a little garret in front of Buvat’s, 
and she sold the remainder of her fur- 
niture only reserving a table, some 
chairs, the cradle of Bathilde and a bed 
for herself. 

Buvat, though he had not a very 
subtil mind, could not but remark her 
frequent removals and it was not dif- 
ficult for him to understand his neigh- 
bor’s situation. Buvat, who was a man 


of order, had some little n.oney he had 
economized which he had greatl}^ wished 
to place at his neigboi’s disposal : but, 
as in the same degree as Clarice’s pov- 
erty became greater, her pride also in- 
creased, Buvat never dared to make 
such an offer. 

And yet, twenty times he had gone 
into her room with a little roll which 
contained all his fortune, fifty or sixty 
louis : but each time he came out, the 
roll half drawn from his pocket, with- 
out ever having the power to entirely dis- 
close it. One day, it happened that Bu- 
vat, in descending the stairs, having met 
the landlord collecting his rent, and 
having divined tlint the visit which he 
intended to make to his neighbor, wflth 
his scrupulous punctuality, would, not- 
withstanding the smallness of the sum, 
perhaps put his neighbor to great dis- 
tress, he made the landlord enter his at- 
tic, saying that the evening before Mad- 
am du Rocher had given him the money 
that the two receipts might be made out 
at the same time. The proprietor, who 
had feared a delay on the part of his 
lodger, did not make himself uneasy 
upon the quarter from w^hence came the 
money : he therefore held out his hands, 
drew up the two receipts, and continued 
his round of collection. 

It must also be said that, in the sim- 
plicity of his soul, Buvat W‘as torment- 
ed wflth this good action as if it were a 
crime ; he passed three or four days 
without venturing to present himself to 
his neighbor, so that, when he did so, he 
found her deeply affected w'ith such an 
act of indifferenoe to her. On his side, 
Buvat found Clarice so changed that he 
went out shaking his head and wdping 
his eyes, and that, for the first time per- 
haps, he w^ent to bed without singing, 
during the five walks he was in the habit 
of making before lying down : 

“ Let me go, 

Let me play, etc.” 

w^hich w^as a proof of the saddest and 
deepest preoccupation. 

Tlie last days of winter passed bear- 
ing in passing the new'sof the surrender 
of Lorida, but at the same time saying 
that the vounu and indefatigable general 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


75 


was making ready to besiege T ortosa. 
This was the last blow for poor Clarice. 
She foresaw that the spring was coming 
and with the spring a new campaign 
which would retain the duke and the 
army. Her strength failed her and she 
was obliged to keep in bed. 

Clarice’s position w'as frightful ; she 
could not be deceived upon her sick- 
ness, she felt it was mortal, and she 
knew no person in the world to recom- 
mend her child to. The poor w'oman 
feared death, not for herself, but for her 
child, wlio would not even have the 
stone of her inother’s tomb on which to 
rest her head. Her husband’s parents 
she could not nor would not solicit pity 
from. As for her own family, born in 
France, where her mother had died, she 
had never known them. Besides, she 
comprehended that even if there w'ere 
hope on that side she had not the time 
to seek it. Death was coming. 

One night, Buvat, who had left Clar- 
ice that night in a fever, heard her moan 
so deeply that he leaped from his bed 
and clothed himself to run to her aid ; 
but on reaching the door, he dared 
neither knock nor enter. Clarice wept 
arid prayed in a loud voice. At this mo- 
ment little Bathilde awoke and called 
her mother. Clarice stopped her tears, 
went to the cradle and taking her child 
out, she returned to her bed, where she 
made her kneel and repeat all she knew 
of prayers, and between each of them 
Buvat had heard her cry out in a mourn- 
ful voice ; ‘‘ Oh, my God, my God ! 
hear my poor child !” There was in this 
scene between a child scarcely out of its 
cradle and a mother half in the grave, 
addressing themselves to the Lord as 
their only support, in the deep silence 
of night, something so profoundly touch- 
ing that the good Buvat fell upon his 
knees, and solemnly promised in a low 
tone that which he dared not utter in a 
loud one. He swore that Bathilde 
might become an orphan, but that at 
least she should not be abandoned. God 
had listened to the double prayer which 
had mounted towards him. 

The next day, Buvat did, on entering 
Clarice’s room, that which he had never 
dared before to do ; he took Bathilde 
in his arms, pressed his face against the 


child’s charming little countenance, and 
said gently, “ Be easy, poor little inno- 
cent, there are yet good men upon 
earth.” The little girl then threw her 
arms around his neck. Buvat felt the 
tears coming to his eyes, and as he had 
heard it many times repeated that one 
must not weep before sick persons as it 
makes them uneasy, he drew out his 
watch and said in his rough tone to dis- 
simulate his emotion: ‘‘Hum, hum! it 
is quarter past ten ; I must go. Mad- 
am du Rocher.” 

Upon the staircase he met the physi- 
cian and asked him what he thought of 
the patient. As it was a doctor who 
came by charity and as he was not 
obliged to be cautious, he replied that 
in three days she would be dead. 

On returning at four o’clock Buvat 
found the house in emotion. As he de- 
scended from Clarice the doctor had 
said that they must call the viaticum. 
They had inlbrmed the cure (curate) 
and the cure had mounted the stairs 
preceded by the sacristan and his bell, 
and without any preparation whatever, 
he had entered the death chamber. 
Clarice had received him as one receives 
the Lord, that is with clasped hands 
and eyes fixed upon heaven, but the im- 
pression produced upon her was none 
the less terrible. Buvat heard the 
chants and conjectured what had hap- 
pened, he mounted quickly and found 
the landing place and the door of the 
chamber encumbered by all the gossips 
of the quartier, who had,as was the hab- 
it at that period, followed the holy sa- 
crament. Around the bed where the, 
dying woman lay, already so pale and 
rigid, that without the two great tears 
running from her eyes, she would have 
been taken for a marble statue upon 
a tombstone, the priest chanted the 
prayers of the dying, and, in a corner 
of the room was Bathilda, who, separa- 
ted from her mother that she might not 
be distracted duHng the accomplishment 
of the last act of religion, was lying, 
daring neither to cry nor weep, fright- 
ened to see so many around her of 
whom she knew no one and hearing 
sounds she could not comprehend. 

So, when she perceived Buvat, the 
child ran to him, as to the only person 


76 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


she knew among this mournful assem- 
blage. Buvat took her in his arms and 
knelt with her by the bed side. At this 
• moment Clarice lowered her eyes from 
heaven to earth. Doubtless she had ad- 
dressed heaven her eternal prayer to 
send a protector for her child. She saw 
Bathilde in the arms of the only friend 
she had in the world. With the pierc- 
ing look of the dying, she plunged to 
the bottom of that pure and devoted 
heart, and she read in a moment what 
he had not dared to say ; for she sat up- 
right, held out her hand to him, uttering 
a cry of joy and acknowledgements 
which the angels alone could compre- 
hend, and, as if she had exhausted the 
last power of her life in that maternal 
burst, she fell back swooning upon her 
bed. 

The religious ceremony being termi- 
nated the priests retired first ; the pious 
fallowed them, the curious and the in- 
different went out the last. Of the lat- 
ter there wei^e many women. Buvat 
demanded of them if any one among 
them knew a good nurse ; one of them 
instantly presented herself, assuring, 
amid the chorus of her companions, that 
she had all the required virtues to ex- 
ercis(‘ that honorable profession, but 
that, justly by reason of that union of 
qualities, she was much sought for in 
the qnartier. 

Buvat asked the price she placed upon 
the eight days : she replied that for all 
o hers it should be sixteen livres, but, 
as the poor lady appeared not very 
wealthy, she would be content with 
twelve. Buvat, who had received his 
stipend that very day, took two crowns 
from his pocket and gave th(3m to her 
without quibbling. If double had been 
asked he would have equally given it ! 
so this unexpected generosity provoked 
her to make suppositions not at all hon- 
orable to the dying woman: so true it is 
that a good action is so rare that it al- 
ways, when produced before the eyes 
of men, leads the humiliated men to 
seek a cause impure or interested ! 

Clarice wa> insensible. The nurse, 
instantly entered upon her duties, mak- 
ing her, in (default of salts, respire vine- 
gar. Buvat retired. As for little Bath- 
ilde they had told her tiiat her mother 


slept. The poor child did not yet know 
the difference between sleep and death, 
and she went to play in a corner with 
her doll. 

At the end of an hour, Buvat came 
for news of Clarice : she had recovered 
from her swoon, but though her eyes 
were open, she spoke no more; still she 
yet could recognize, for, when she per- 
ceived him she clasped her hands and 
prayed ; then she appeared to seek lor 
something under her bolster. But the 
effort was no doubt too great for her 
weakness, for she sighed and fell back 
again motionless upon the pillow. The 
nurse shook her head, and approaching 
Clarice : “ Your pillow is right, my lit- 
tie mother,” said she, “ it will not disturb 
you.” Then turning to Buvat she added 
with a shrug of the shoulders ; Ah ! 
these patients. They always imagine 
something troubles them. It is death — 
death ! but they do not know it.” 

Clarice uttered a profound sigh, but 
she remained immoveable. The nurse 
approached her, and with the tip of a 
feather she moistened her lips with a 
cordial of her invention which the apo- 
thecary had compounded. Buvat could 
not support this sight : he entrusted the 
mother and child to the nurse’s care and 
went out. 

The day after the mother was worse ; 
for, though her eyes were open, she ap- 
peared to recognize no one but her child, 
who had slept upon the bed with her 
and whose little hand she would not re- 
lease. The child, as if she felt that it 
was the last maternal tie, remained si- 
lent and quiet. 

“ She sleeps, mamma, she sleeps.” 

It seemed then to Buvat that Clarice 
made a movement as if she recognized 
her daughter’s voice ; but it might have 
also been a nervous shudder. He asked 
the nurse if anything was required. She 
shook her head saying : 

Why no, it will only be money 
thrown away. Those rogues of apothe- 
caries gain enough without that.” 

Buvat would have remained near 
Clarice, for he saw she had but little 
time to live ; but he had never the idea, 
unless he himself was dead, of being ab- 
sent one da}^ from his desk. He went 
there as usual, but so sad and oppressed, 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILB. 


77 


that the King conld not have gained 
much by his presence. They remarked 
with astonishment, that day, that Biivat 
did not stop when four o’clock sounded 
to untie the strings of the blue sleeves 
which were worn to preserve his cloth- 
ing, but rose, took his hat and v^ent 
out. 

Buvat’s sentiments were confirmed : 
on arriving at his house he demanded 
of the portress the stite of Clarice. 

“ Ah ! thank God,” responded she, 

the poor woman is very happy : she 
suffers no longer.” 

“She is dead !” cried Buvat, with that 
shudder one ever feels on hearing that 
terrible word. 

“ At nearly three o’clock,” replied the 
portress; and she continued the ditty 
which had been interrupted to reply to 
Buvat. 

Buvat mounted the steps of the stair- 
case slowly one by one, stopping at each 
landing-place to wipe his brow ; then, 
on reaching the floor on which were his 
and Clarice’s chambers, he was obliged 
to lean against the wall for he felt his 
legs fail him. There is in the sight of a 
corpse something so solemn and terrible 
that the man who is most master of him- 
self yields to the impression. So he 
was there mute and motionless, when he 
seemed to hear the voice of little B :th- 
ilde lamenting. He recollected the child 
then, and felt some part of his courage 
return. Yet, when at the door, he stop- 
ped again, but then he heard more dis- 
tinctly the little girl’s moans : 

“ Mamma 1” cried the child, her voice 
broken by tears, “mamma, wake up! 
mamma 1 why are you so cold 

Then the child came to the door, and 
striking it with her little hand : 

“ Good friend,” said she, “ good friend, 
come! I am all alone, I am afraid !” 

The profound purity with which the 
poor little one inspired him overcame 
the painful sentiment which had stopped 
him on the instant, and he tried the 
lock. The door was firm. At this mo- 
ment he heard the portress calling him : 
he ran to the stairs and asked her wh ere 
the key was. 

“Well ! that is just it,” replied the 
portress : “ how stupid I am ! I forgot 
to give you it in passing.” 


Buvat descended quickly. 

“ And whv is the key here asked 
he. 

“ The landlord left* it after taking off 
the furniture,” responded the portress. 

“ What! taken the furniture away?” 
cried Buvat. 

“ Eh ! of course he took them: Your 
neighbor was ii.;t rich. Monsieur Buvat, 
and there is something she owes on all 
sides. Besides she has no more need of 
furnitui-e, the poor dear woman !” 

“ But the nurse? what has become of 
her ?” 

“ When she saw the woman was dead, 
she went off. Her business was ended ; 
she will come to bury her for a crown, 
if you will. It is generally the portres- 
ses who have the little surplus ; but I 
am too sensitive !” 

Buvat comprehended all that had pass 
ed. He mounted as rapidly this time, 
as he had gone slowly before. His hand 
trembled so that he could scarcely find 
the keyslide. At last the key turned, 
and the door opened. 

Clarice was extended on the floor upon 
the straw mattress of her bed in the 
middle of the unfurnished room. A 
miserable cloth had been thrown over 
her and had concealed her entirely, but 
little Bathilde had pulled it away from 
her mother’s face and was embracing it 
as Buvat entered. 

“ Ah ! good friend, good friend,” cried 
the child, “ wake up my mamma who is 
still sleeping; wake her, I pray you !” 

And the little girl ran to Buvat, who 
looked upon this mournful spectacle from^ 
the door. 

Buvat led Bathilda to the corpse. 

“ Embrace your mother a last time, 
poor child,” said he. 

Bathilda obeyed. 

“ And now,” continued he, “leave 
her to sleep. One day, the good God 
will awake her.” 

And he took up the child in his arms 
and carried her to his room. The child 
made no resistance, as if she compre- 
hended her weakness and her isolation. 

Then he placed her upon his bed, for 
they had taken the cradle, and when he 
saw she was asleep, he went out to 
make the mortuary declaration to the 


78 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


commissioner of the qiiartier, and to 
see to the funeral. 

When he returned, the portress handed 
him a paper which had been found by 
the nurse in Clarice’s hand when they 
were enshrouding her. 

Buvat opened it and recognised the 
letter of the Duke of Orleans. 

It was the only heritage which the poor 
mother had left to her child. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

BATHILDE. 

After making his deposition to the 
commissioner and arranging the funeral 
matters, Buvat was yet to occupy him- 
self in the search for a woman who 
would take care of little Bathilde, a 
duty which he could not do himself, first 
because he was perfectly ignorant, and 
finally because being at his desk six 
hours of the day, it was impossible that 
the child could remain alone in his ab- 
sence. Fortunately he had under his eye 
what he required : that was a good wo- 
man thirty-five or thirty-eight years old, 
who had been in Madam Buvat’s ser- 
vice during the three last years of her 
life, and who, during those three years, 
had shown her good qualities. He 
agreed with Nanette, this was the good 
woman’s name, that she should lodge 
in the house, attend to the cooking, take 
care of little Bathilde, and have for 
wages fifty livres a year and her board- 
ing. 

This new disposition had changed all 
of Buvat’s habits; he could no longer 
live in a garret with those now attaclied 
to him, and the following day he had 
gone in search of another lodging. He 
found one in the rue Pagevin, for he 
could not reside far from the Royal 
Library ; it was an apartment composed 
of two chambers, a cabinet and a kitchen; 
he paid the earnest money, went to the 
Saint Antoine to buy furniture for the 
chambers of Bathilde and Nanette, and 
that same evening, on his return from 
his desk, the moving was effected. 

The next day, a Sunday, Clarice’s in- 
terment took place, so that Buvat had 


not even need, to render the last duties 
to his neighbor, to ask for a day of leave 
from his chief. For a week or two, lit- 
tle Bathilda asked every instant for her 
mamma Clarice, but her good friend Bu- 
vat, to console her, had brought her such 
pretty playthings, that she commenced 
by speaking less often of her mother, 
and as they had said that she had gone 
to join her papa, she ended by demand- 
ing from time to time when they both 
would return. At last the veil which 
separates the first years from the rest 
of our life became more and more dense, 
and Bathilda forgot them until the day 
when the young girl, knowing finally 
that she was an orphan, would recover 
the one and the other in her childish re- 
collections. 

Buvat had given the finest of the two 
rooms to Bathilda ; he had reserved the 
other for himself, and consigned the 
cabinet to Nanette. This Nanette was 
a good woman, who cooked passably, 
knit in a remarkable manner, and spun 
like the holy Virgin. But, notwithstand- 
ing these diversive talents, Buvat saw 
that Nanette and he would not suffice 
for the young girl’s education, and that, 
when Bathilda could write maj^nificently 
according to his five rules, and could 
spin and sew^, she knew but half of what 
she should know, for Buvat had looked 
upon the obligation with which he had 
charged himself in all its features ; he 
had one of those organizations which 
think but in the heart, and he had com- 
prehended that while she was his pupil, 
Bathilde was none the less the daughter 
of Albert and Clarice. He resolved 
then to give her an education conforma- 
ble, not to her present situation, but, to 
the name she bore. 

And, for taking this resolution, Buvat 
had made a simple reasoning ; he owed 
his place to Albert, and consequently the 
revenue of that place appertained to 
Bathilde. Let us see how he divided 
his nine hundred livres of annual 
salary ! 

Four hundred and fifty livres for the 
master of music, designing and danc- 
ing. 

Four hundred and fifty livres for 
Bathilde’s dower. 

Supposing that Bathilde, then four 


THE BRIDE OP 'I'llE BASTILE. 


79 


years old, should marry at fourteen 
years later, that is when she was eigh- 
teen, the interest and the principal uni- 
ted would amount, on the day of her 
maiTiage, to something like nine or ten 
thousand livres. This was not a great 
sum, Buvat knew well, and he was great- 
ly pained until he found means to make 
it better. 

As to the common food, the payment 
for the lodging, the maintenance of 
Bathilde and himself, and Nanette’s 
wages, he returned to giving writing 
lessons, and making copies. To effect 
this, he rose at five o’clock of the morn- 
ing and went to sleep at ten of the eve- 
ning. This was all benefit, for, thanks 
to this new arrangement, he lengthened 
his life four or five hours each day. 

God from the very first blessed these 
resolutions ; neither lessons nor copies 
failed Buvat, and as two years passed 
before Bathilde terminated the first edu- 
cation with which he had charged him- 
self, he had added nine hundred livres 
to his little treasure and placed nine hun- 
dred livres upon Bathilde’s head. 

When six years old, Bathilde was 
that which rarely at that age are the 
ehiidreu of the noblest and wealthiest 
families: that is to say perfect in danc- 
ing, music and design. 

Besides it was all pleasure to make 
sacrifices for this charming child, for she 
appeared to have received from God one 
of those happy organizations, whose ap- 
titude makes one believe in an anterior 
World, so much do they who are given 
them seem, not to hear a nev\^ thing but 
to recollect a thing forgotten. As for 
her youthful beauty, which gave such 
magnificent hopes it fulfilled all it had 
promised. 

So Buvat was very happy all the 
week wdien after every lesson he receiv- 
ed the compliments of the masters, and 
very proud when on Sunday, after array- 
ing himself in his salmon colored coat, 
black velvet breeches and silk stockings, 
he took his little Bathilde by the hand 
and went with her to make his weekly 
f^romenade. It was ordinarily towards 
the road of the Porcherons that he went. 
This was generally the meeting place of 
the players of bowls, and Buvat had 
been a great amateur of the game. In 


ceasing to be an actor, he had become a 
judge. At each contest which arose, it 
was he who was appealed to and it was 
justice he rendered, he had so exact an 
eye, that at the first sight he indicated, 
without ever being wrong,the bow l which 
was nearest to the mark. So his judge- 
ments w^ere without appeal, aiid were 
followed and respected as much as those 
which Louis rendered at Vincennes. 

Of Buvat, it must be said in his 
praise, his predilection for that prome- 
made was not born of an egotistical sen- 
timent ; this walk led at the same time 
to the marshes of the Grange Bateliere, 
whose sombre and clouded waters attract 
a great number of those darning-needles 
with gauze-like wings and golden breasts, 
in the pursuit of w hich there is so much 
pleasure for childien. One of little 
Bathilde’s chief amusements w-as to run, 
her green net in her hand and her pretty 
blonde hair floating in the wind, after the 
butterflies and dragon-flies. There re- 
sulted, from the nature of the ground, 
some little damages to her white dress, 
but so long as Bathilde was amused, Bu- 
vat passed matters of sewdng over wdth 
great philosophy : that was Nanette’s 
affair. The good w’oman w^ould grumble 
on their return, but Buvat would close 
her mouth by saying : “ Bah ! the old 
must muse and the young amuse !” And 
as Nanette had a great respect for prov- 
erbs wdiich she herself repeated on occa- 
sions, she generally yielded to them. 

It also happened sometimes, but it 
was only on great festival days, that 
Buvat consented, at little Bathilde’s re- 
quest, who wished to see the windmills, 
to go on as far as Montmartre. Then 
they started early : Nanette carrying a 
dinner destined to be eaten upon the es- 
planade of the Abbaye. They bravely 
passed through the faubourg, they cross- 
ed the bridge of the Porcherons, they 
left Saint Eustache cemetery and the 
chapel of Our Lady of Lorette to the 
right, they cleared the barrier, and they 
climbed the road of Montmartre, w'hich 
darts like a ribbon between the nearest 
woods and the Briolets. 

Such days they returned at eight o’- 
clock of the evening : so, since they 
passed the cross of the Porcherons, little 
Bathilde slept in Bu vat’s arms. 


80 


THE BRIDE OF THE BA.STILE. 


Thus events went on till the year of 
grace It 12, an epoch when the great 
King found himself so troubled with his 
affairs, that he saw no means of putting 
an end to his embarrassment but by 
ceasing to pay his officials. Buvat was 
informed of this administrative measure 
by the cashier, who announced to 1dm 
one line morning, as he came for his mo- 
ney, that he had none in his box. Buvat 
regarded the cashier with an amazed 
air ; he had never had the idea that the 
King could want for money. He was 
not otherwise inquieted by the response, 
being convinced that accident alone had 
interrupted the payment, and he return- 
ed to bis desk, sing.ng his favorite : 

“ Let me go, 

Let me play, etc.'’ 

‘'Pardieu!” said the supernumerary, 
who after seven years of waiting had 
finally been employed the first of the 
preceeding month, you must have a 
very gay heart to sing when we are 
j)aid no more.” 

What?” said Buvat, ‘‘what do you 
say ?” 

“ I say perhaps you did not come from 
the cashier ?” 

“ Excuse me, I did.’^ 

“ And did he pay you ?” 

“No, they said that he had no more 
money.” 

“ And what do you think of that ?” 

“Dame! I think,” said Buvat, “I 
think that they will pay the two months 
together.'” 

“ Ah, yes ! how I sing ! the two months 
together. Say then, Ducondray,” re- 
sumed the official turning to his neigh- 
bor, “ he believes that they will pay the 
two months together 1 Father Buvat is 
a good child !” 

“We shall see in another month,” re- 
plied the second. 

“Yes,” said Buvat, repeating' the 
words which seemed to him replete with 
justice, “ we shall see in another month.” 

“ And if they do not pay you next 
month nor those after, what will you do, 
%ther Buvat ?” 

“ What will I do ?” said Buvat, aston- 
ished that any one could put his resolu- 
tion of coming iii doubt, “well ! but it 


is very simple, I shall come all the 
same.” 

What? if they pay you no more,” 
said the man, “ 3'ou will still come ?” 

“ Monsieur,” said Buvat, “ the King 
for ten years has paid me down upon 
the nail. He has then, at the end of ten 
years, if he is troubled, the right to ask 
me a little credit.” 

“ Vile flatterer 1 ” said the official. 

The month passed, the pay-day came; 
Buvat presented himselt with the per- 
fect confidence of one who goes to re- 
ceive his back earnings : but to his great 
astonishment, they told him as at the 
last time that the cash-box was empty. 
Buvat asked when it would be filled ; 
the cashier replied that he was very 
curious. Buvat made his excuses and 
returned to his desk, but this time with- 
out singing. 

The same day the other gave in his 
resignation. But as it was difficult to 
replace a man who withdrew because 
they paid no more, and as the work 
must be done the same, the principal 
charged Buvat, besides his own labor 
with that of the resignee . Buvat receiv- 
ed it without murmuring. 

They paid no more the third month 
than the two first. It was a veritable 
bankruptcy. 

But, as one sees, Buvat never haggled 
with his duties. That which he had 
promised to do in his first movement, he 
did with reflection. Only he attacked 
his little treasure, which was composed 
of his two years’ salaries. 

Still Bathilde grew : she was now a 
3mung girl of thirteen or fourteen years 
whose beauty became each day more 
and more remarkable, and who began to 
comprehend all the difficulty of her po- 
sition. So, since six months or a year 
before, under pretext that she preferred 
to remain to design or pfay upon the 
harpsichord, the walks to the Poreherons, 
the excursions within the marshes of 
the Grange Bateliere and the ascensions 
to Montmartre were discontinued. Bu- 
vat comprehended nothing of tiiese se- 
dentary tastes, which had suddenly af- 
fected the young girl, and as, after try- 
ing two or three walks without her, he 
had perceived that it was not the pro- 
menade itsoll that he liked, he resolved, 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


81 


■seeing that the citizens of Paris, shut up 
all the week, must at least tal^e the air 
on Sunday, he had resolved, say I, to 
seek for a little lodging with a garden ; 
but lodgings with a garden being two 
dear for the state of Buvat’s finances, 
inasmuch as he had met with in searches 
the little lodging of the rue du Temps- 
perdu, he had been struck with the lu- 
minous idea of replacing a garden by a 
terrace : he had even reflected that the 
'air would be better, and he had return- 
ed to report to Bathilde, saying that the 
only inconvenience of their future apart- 
ments was that their two chambers 
would be separated, and that she would 
be obliged to occupy the fourth floor 
with Nanette, while he lodged on the 
fifth. That which appeared an inconve- 
nience to Buvat appeared on the contrary 
a good quality io Bathilde. For some 
time she had comprehended, with 
female instinct, that it was unbecoming 
that her chamber should be on the same 
floor and separated but by a single door 
from the room of a man still young, 
who was neither her father nor her hus- 
band. She assured Buvat then that, 
after all he had said of that lodging, she 
believed it would be difficult to find 
another that would suit so well ; she 
begged him to engage it as soon as pos- 
sible. Buvat, enchanted, took leave of 
his lodging and paid the earnest money ; 
then, at the end of the next half term, 
he removed. This was the third time 
in twenty years, and always in peremp- 
tory circumstances. As one may see, 
Buvat was not a man of changeable 
humor. 

And Bathilde was right to reply thus 
for herself, for, since her black mantle 
'Covered admirable shoulders, since 
under her mittens were the prettiest 
fingers in the world, since of the Ba- 
thilde of former times she had only 
qDreserved the feet, everybody remarked 
that Buvat was yet young ; that five or 
six times, as they knew he was a man 
of order and saw him regularly go each 
month to his notary, he had found the 
occasion of marrying without profiting 
by that occasion : in short, that the 
tutor and pupil dwelt so near each other; 
so the gossips who had kissed the good 
man’s footsteps when Bathilde was but 


six years old, commenced to cry out 
upon Buvat’s immorality now that Ba- 
thilde was fifteen. 

Poor Buvat! If ever echo was pure 
and innocent, it was that of the chamber 
joining Bathilde’s, that chamber which 
for ten years had sheltered his large 
good head, in which a bad thought had 
never came, even in dreams. 

But, on reaching the rue du Temps- 
perdu, this was worse yet ; Buvat and 
Bathilde had came, one will recollect, 
from the rue des Orties to the rue 
Pagevin; in the place where they had 
seen his admirable conduct in respect to 
the infant, that recollection had protected 
him from calumny ; but it was already 
so long since that fine action had been 
done that ar the rue Pagevin they com- 
menced to forget it. It must have been 
very difficult if the sounds which had 
begun to expand had not followed them 
into a new quartier where they were to- 
tally unknown, and wdiere there inscrip- 
tion under two different names would in 
all cases awaken suspicions, excluding 
all idea of relationship. 

One supposition, attributing to Buvat 
a wild youth, had seen in Bathilde the 
result of an old passion which the 
Church had forgotten to consecrate ; but 
this fell to the ground at the first ex- 
amination. Bathilde was tall, Buvat 
was short and stout ; Bathilde had black 
and ardent eyes, Buvat had eyes blue 
without the least expression ; Bathilde 
had white skin, Buvat’s face was of the 
liveliest red : in short, the whole of 
Bathilde’s person breathed forth her ele- 
gance and distinction, while poor Buvat 
was from head to foot a type of vulgar 
good-natnre. The result was that the 
women began to regard Bathilde with 
disdain, and that the men called Buvat 
a lucky rogue. 

It is just to say besides that Madam 
Denis was one of the last to accredit all 
the rumors. We shall say hereafter by 
what occasion she was led to give them 
credence. 

Still the foresight of the resigned 
employee was realized. It was already 
eighteen months since Buvat had touch- 
ed a sou of his wages without the good 
man, notwithstanding his long credit, re- 
laxing his ordinary punctuality for an 


82 


THE GRANGE PLUME ; OR, 


instant. Moreover, as they paid no 
more, he had a terrible fear that the 
minister would suppress his officials, and 
Buvat, though his place was taken by 
day as usual, employed six hours of his 
time in a more lucrative manner, and 
he might be regarded as doing labor ir- 
reparably injuring his continuance in 
the place. So he redoubled his zeal to 
such a measure that he lost all hope of 
the return of his stipend. They took 
great care not to throw off a man who 
worked so much the more when they 
paid less. 

The diminution of his little treasure 
which menaced a total exhaustion 
wrinkled Buvat’s brow, so that Bathilde 
began* to suspect that something had 
happened she was ignorant of. With 
the characteristic tact of females, she 
saw that all questions to Buvat upon a 
secret which he would not himself en- 
trust to her would be useless. It was to 
Nanette she addressed herself. Ninette 
made some little remonstrances, but as 
all within the house felt the influence of 
Bathilde she finally avowed the situa- 
tion of affairs ; Bathilde was only then 
apprized of all she owed to the delicate 
disinterestedness . of Buvat; she knew 
now that he preserved intact his salaries 
to pay her teachers and to amass her a 
dowry. Buvat worked from five to 
eight o’clock in the morning, and from 
nine to midnight, and that which griev- 
ed him was that despite his labor, when, 
his little economized sum was exhausted, 
he should be forced to retrencii all ex- 


pense which was not rigorously necessa- 
ry. Bathilde’s first act in appreciating 
this devotion, was to tall at Buvat’s feet 
when he entered and to kiss his hands ; 
but she comprcdiended that the only 
means to reach her end was to appear 
ignorant; in the filial kiss she deposited 
upon Buvat’s forehead when he returned 
from his desk the good man could not 
divine all there was of veneration and 
acknowledgement. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

BATHILDE. 

But the next day, Bathilde, laughing- 
ly, told Buvat that she believed her 
teachers had no nnu'e need to come, 


that she knew as much as they did, aipd 
if they were kept any longer it would 
be money lost. As Buvat found noth- 
ing so fine as Bathilde’s designs ; as, 
when Bathilda was singing, he felt raised 
to the third heaven, he could not but 
believe his pupil, especially as the mas- 
ters, with rare good faith, avowed that 
their scholar kncAt^ enough to continue 
her progress alone thencetorth. Such 
was the sentiment which Bathilde inspir- 
ed that she purified all who approached 
her. 

One can see the great pleasure this 
double declaration gave Buvat ; but it 
was not enough to Bathilde that the ex- 
jDcnses were spared; she resolved to 
add to the gain. Though she had made 
equal progress in music and design, she 
saw that the latter alone would be a re- 
source while music would serve as a re- 
laxation. She reserved all her applica- 
tion for sketching, and as she really was 
of superior power, she could soon make 
exquisite pastels. At last, one day she 
would know the value of her works, 
and begged Buvat, in going to his desk, 
to show to the colorman from whom 
she bought paper and crayons, and 
who dwelt at the corner of rue de Clery 
and the rue du Cros-Chenet, two heads 
of infants she had drawn from imagin- 
ation, and to ask him at what price he 
estimated them. Buvat acquitted him- 
self of the mission with his ordinary 
simplicity. The storekeeper habituated 
to such propositions, turned and return- 
ed with a disdainful air the heads in 
his hands, and criticising them strongly 
said that he could offer but fifteen livres 
for each. Buvat, wounded not by the 
pi-ice named but by the disres|)ectful 
mannei* with which the trader had spo- 
ken of Bathi Ida’s talent, took them ab- 
i-Liptly from his hand, saying that he 
thanked him. 

The man, thinking then that the good 
man had found that the price was nr)t 
high enough, said that in favor of their 
aquaintance, he would give forty livres 
for the two ; but Buvat, angry when he 
heard of the slight put upon his pupil’s 
perfections, replied dryly, that the 
pictures he had shown him were not for 
sale: they augmented singularly in value; 
the result was that the colorman offered 


THE BRIHiC Ox" THE BASTILE. 


83 


fifty livres, but Buvat, little sensible of a 
proposition by which he did not intend 
to profit, placed the drav^ings in their 
casi*, went out of the store with all the 
pride of a man wounded in his dignity, 
and proceeded to his desk. On his re- 
turn the storekeeper was standing as if 
by chance at his door, but Buvat tried 
to avoid him. This did not serve him 
for the man went up to him, and, clap- 
ping his hands upon his two shoulders, 
he asked him if he w'ould not give the 
designs for the before-mentioned price. 
Buvat responded a seconcTtime, and in 
a more aggrieved tone than the first, 
that the pictures were not for sale. 

‘‘ That is false,” continued the store- 
keeper, ‘4 shall offer eighty livres,” 
and he turned to the door with an in- 
different air, but still keepitig his eye up- 
on Buvat. The latter continued his w^ay 
with a pride which gave something most 
grotesque to his bearing and, without 
having turned a single time, disappeared 
around the corner of* the rue du Temps- 
perdu. 

Bathilde heard Buvat mounting and 
beating at the same time the rails of 
the stairs with his cane, which produced 
a regular sound with which he was in 
the habit of accompanying his ascend 
ing march. She ran instantly almost 
to the head of the stairs, for she Avas 
very uneasy upon the result of the ne- 
gociation, and threw, a relic of her in- 
fantile habits, her arm <Mround his neck. 

‘‘Well, good friend,” demanded she, 
“ wdiat did M. Papillon say 

M, Papillon. was the name of the 
col or man. 

“ M. Papillon,” said Buvat is an im- 
perinent man?” 

Poor Bathilde became pale. 

“ What, good friend, he impertinent ?” 
“ Yes, jackanapes, wdio, instead of 
falling on iVis knees before your designs, 
presumed to criticise them.” 

“ Oh 1 if that is all, good friend,” 
said Bathilde laughing, “ he is right. 
Did you dream that 1 am not a scholar? 
But in short did he offer any price ?” 

“ Yes,” said Buvat “ but that w'as 
again impertinence.” 

“ And what price ?” demanded Bath- 
ilde trembling. 

“ He offered eighty livres !” 


“ Eighty livres I” cried Bathilda. 
“ Oh ! you doubtless deceive me, good 
friend.” 

“ He dared to offer eighty livres, I 
repeat,” replied Buvat. 

“ But that is four times what they 
are w’orth,” said the young girl clapping 
her hands for joy. 

“ That is possible,” continued Buvat, 
“ but it is not the less true that M. Pa- 
pillon was impertinent.” 

This was not Bathilde’s idea ; so not 
to enter into a discussion w'ith Buvat, 
she changed the conversation, announc- 
ing to him that dinner was ready, an 
announcement which usually turned the 
good man’s ideas to another course. Bu- 
vat returned, without ulterior observa- 
tions, the case into Bathilde’s hands, 
and entered into the little dining-room, 
slapping his hands on his thighs and 
singing the inevitable : 

“ Let me go, 

Let me pLi}', etc.” 

He dined with as good an appetite as 
if his almost paternal love had received 
no offence, as if there was no such person 
as M. Papillon in the world. 

That evening, when Buvat went to 
his own room to copy, Bathilde handed 
the case to Nanette, told her to take to 
M. Papillon the two heads it- con- 
tained, and to ask for the eighty livres 
he had offered Buvat. 

Nanette obeyed, and Bathilde awaited 
her return with anxiety, for she believed 
Buvat might have deceived her upon 
the price. Ten minutes afterwards she 
was completely assured for the good 
woman returned with the eighty livres. 

Bathilde took the money in her hands, 
looked at it an instant with tearful eyes, 
then placing it upon a, table, she went 
silently to kneel before the crucifix which 
was at the foot of her bed, where each 
evening she made her prayer. But this 
time the prayer was turned to thanks. 
She had the power to render back to the 
good Buvat a part of what he had done 
for her. 

The following day Buvat, on return- 
ing from his desk, wished, if only to 
annoy M. Papillon, to pass before his 
door ; but his astonishment was great 
when through the windows of the shop, 


84 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


he perceived, in magnificent frames, the 
two heads of children. At the. same 
time the door opened and the shop- 
keeper appeared. 

‘‘ Well, papa Buvat!” said he, “we 
all have our little reflections ! W e have 
decided upon selling our two heads which 
were not for sale. Ah, tredanie ! I did 
not think you so cunning, neighbor ! 
You have got eighty good livres from 
my pocket with all that 1 But that is 
enough ; say to Mademoiselle Bathilde, 
that as she is a good girl, in considera- 
tion for her, if she will give me two like 
those every month, and engage for a 
year not to make any for others, I will 
take them at the same price. 

Buvat was completely overcome, he 
grumbled a reply which M. Papillon 
could not lUnderstand, and proceeded 
along the rue du Gros-Chenet, choosing 
the stone on which to put his cane, 
which was in him a mark of great pre- 
occupation. Then he came up the four 
floors without striking bannisters, and 
opened Bathilde’s chamber door, with- 
out which she would not have heard him. 
The young girl was sketching ; she had 
already begun another head. 

On perceiving her friend standing upon 
the sill of the door with a gloomy air, 
Bathilde laid down her crayons and paper, 
ran to him asking him what had hap- 
pened ; but Buvat, dropping two large 
tears, said with an accent of indefinable 
sensibility. 

“ So, the daughter of my benefactress, 
the child of Clarice Gray and Albert du 
Rocher works for a living !” 

“ But, little father,” replied Bathilde, 
half-weeping, half laughing, “ I do not 
work, 1 amuse myself!” 

The words little father were on great 
occasions substituted for good friend, 
and had Usually the result of calming 
the good man in his greatest troubles ; 
but this time the ruse failed. 

“ I am neither your little father nor 
your good friend,” said Buvat shaking 
his head, and regarding the young girl 
with admirable goodnature ; “ 1 am sim- 
ply poor Buvat whom the King pays no 
more, and who gains not enough by his 
writing to continue to give education that 
is fitted for a young lady like you.” 

And he let his arms fall with such dis- 


couragement that his cane escaped from 
his hands. 

“ Oh ! but you will make me die with 
grief 1” cried Bathilde bursting into tears 
so much was Buvat’s sadness painted 
upon his features. 

“ 1 make you die of grief, my child !” 
cried Buvat, with an accent of profound 
tenderness. “ What have I said ? what 
have I done ?” 

And Buvat clasped his hands, ready 
to fall down upon his knees before her. 

“ I see that you love me, little fath- 
er,” said Bathilde; “but I thought you 
angry and then I wept.” 

“ But I do not wish you to weep !” 
said Buvat. “ Well, it needed but that 
— to see you weep 1” 

“ Then,” said Bathilde, “ 1 will weep 
always if you do not let me do as I 
wish.” 

This menace of Bathilde, all childish 
though it was, made Buvat shudder from 
the point of his foot to the roots of his 
hair ; for since the day when the child 
wept for her mother, not a tear had fal- 
len from the young girfs eyes. 

“Well,” said Buvat, “do as you 
wish and what you wish ; but promise 
me that on the King paying me my mo- 
ney ” 

“ That is good, that is good, little fa- 
ther,” said Bathilde interrupting Buvat, 
“ we shall see all that soon enough ; but 
in waiting, you cause your dinner to be 
cold.” 

And the young girl, taking the good 
man by the arm, passed with him into 
the dining-room, where, by her pleasant- 
ries and gaiety, she soon eflaced from 
Buvat’s fat face all traces of his sadness. 

As we have seen, the colorman had 
said to Buvat that he would take two 
designs a month, with the condition that 
Bathilde should not work for any one 
but him. But Bathilde could finish 
these two designs in eight or ten days : 
there remained then each month fifteen 
days or so which she believed she had 
no right to lose ; so that, as she had 
made as much progress in her education 
of woman of housework as in that of 
woman of fashion she had charged 
Nanette that morning even, to seek, 
without saying for who, amidst her ac- 
quaintances, some needle-work, difficult 


TOE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


85 


and consequently well paid, to which she 
could devote herself in Bu vat’s absence 
and the recompense of which would add 
to the welfare of the house. Nanette 
had not far to go to find what she sought 
for. This was t!ie time of lace and ac- 
croces : the great ladies paid fifty louis 
the ell for gimp-lace, and wore robes 
more transparent than those which J u- 
venal called woven air. With her first 
attempt Batiiilde did miracles ; her 
needle-work seemed like that of a fairy. 
So Nanette received many compliments 
when the work was paid for. 

Thanks to this laborious resolution of 
Bathilde, of which resolution everybody, 
even Buvat, remained ignorant, the lit- 
tle money of the household then ready 
to fail was being replenished from a 
double source. Buvat, more easy 
thenceafter and seeing that, without Ba- 
thilde positively speaking upon the sub- 
ject, he must renounce his Sunday prom- 
enades, which he had found so charming 
when made with her, determined upon 
forming that famous terrace whicii had 
had so weighty an influence upon the 
choice of his lodging. 

During eight days, every morning 
and every evening, he passed an hour, 
without any one, even Bathilde, having 
an idea of what he would do. Finally 
he concentrated his mind upon a foun- 
tain, a grotto and an arbor. 

One must have seen the citizens of 
Paris taken with one of those fiintastic 
ideas, such as had come to Buvat on the 
day when he had resolved upon having 
a park upon his roof, to comprehend all 
that human patience can exact from 
things which at first sight seem impos- 
sible. The fountain was almost nothing. 

we have said, the gutters, eight feet 
more elevated than the terrace, gave 
every facility for the execution. The 
arbor was somewhat the same : some 
laths painted green, nailed diamond-wise, 
some seeds of jasmin o and honeysuckle 
were the only expenses. But it was the 
grotto which was truly to be the master- 
piece of this new garden of Semiramis. 

On Sunday, at daybreak, Buvat de- 
parted for the wood at Vincennes : and, 
arriving there, he went in quest of those 
odd stones, with eccentric forms, some 
of which naturally represent the heads 


of apes, others crouching rabbits, mush- 
rooms or cathedral spires : then, when 
he had collected a large number, he put 
them in a wheelbarrow, the hire of 
which was set apart weekly, and 
wheeled them safely to the rue du 
Temps-perdu. This first collection took 
three months to complete. 

Then Buvat passed from stones to 
vegetables. All roots having the impru- 
dence to come from the ground under 
the form of a serpent or under the ap- 
pearance of a turtle, became the proper- 
ty of Buvat, who, a little twisted root 
in his hand, walked with his eyes fixed 
upon the soil, with as much attention as 
a man who sought for a treasure, and 
who, on perceiving a lignseous form 
which suited his purpose, precipitated 
himself on it with all the eagerness of a 
tiger upon its prey. 

By striking, hacking, pulling, he fin- 
ally detached it from the earth. This 
obstinate research, which the guards of 
Vincennes and Saint Cloud essayed 
many a time to put an end to, but with- 
out success, so much did Buvat by his 
perseverance weary their activity, gave 
him at last, to his great satisfaction, all 
the required materials. 

Then commenced the architectural 
work. The largest like the smallest 
which would serve in the erection of 
this modern Babel was turned and turn- 
ed upon all its faces, until it offered its 
most advantageous side to the sight; 
then placed, then cemented in such a 
manner that each exterior stone present- 
ed capric ous imitations of the head of a 
man, the body of an animal, a plant, a 
flower or some fruit. Soon there was a 
mass of chimerical apppearances of the 
most opposite sort joined, twisting, 
creeping, crawling, writhing, all the 
roots with forms of ophidian or batra- 
cian, which Buvat had surprised in the 
very act of resembling some unknown 
reptile. Finally, the vault was round- 
ed, it serving as the haunt of a magnifi- 
cent hydra, the most precious piece of 
the collection, and to the seven heads of 
which Buvat had had the happy idea of 
adding, to give them a still more for- 
midable air, eyes of enamel and 
tongue of scarlet cloth, it followed that 
when the work had attained all its per- 


86 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


fection, it was not without a certain 
hesitation that Buvat approached the 
terrible cavern, and that, for the first 
time, for nothing in the world, would he 
have dared, alone, to promenade the 
roof. 


CHAPTER XX. 

YOUNG LOVERS. 

Buv at’s babylonian work had en- 
dured twelve months. 

During these twelve months, Bathilde 
had passed from her fifteenth to her 
sixteenth year, so that the young girl 
had become a charming woman. It was 
tiuring this period that her neighbor 
Boniface Denis had remarked her, and 
inasmuch as his mother could refuse 
him nothing, she had, after gaining pre- 
viously information from a good source, 
that is from the rue Pageven, com- 
menced, under a pretext of the duties 
of neighbors, by presenting herself to 
Buvat and his pupil, and had finished 
by inviting them to pass Sunday even- 
ings at'lier house. This invitation was 
made in such a way, that it could not 
be refused, though Bathilde felt repug- 
nant to leave her solitude. Buvat was 
enchanted that an occasion of amuse- 
ment was presented to Batilde. Then, 
at bottom, as he knew that Madam 
Denis had two daughters, perhaps he 
would not be angry to play — in that pa- 
ternal pride wdiich the best souls are 
not exempt from — them off against his 
pupil and glory in the triumph which 
Bathilde could not fail to obtain over 
Mademoiselle Emily and Mademoiselle 
Athenais. 

Yet these things did not happen pre- 
cisely as the good man had laid them 
dowm in his head. Bathilde saw at the 
first f^lance with whom she had to do, 
and appreciated the mediocrity of her 
rivals ; so that when they spoke of de- 
sign and let her admire their sketches, 
she pretended to have nothing in the 
house to show them, while Buvat knew 
perfectly well that she had in her port- 
folios a head of the infant Christ and 
one of Saint John, both charming. 


This was not all ! Then they begged 
her to sing, after the Mesdemoiselles 
Denis had been heard, she took a simple 
ballad in two verses which lasted but 
five minutes, instead of the great air 
Buvat had counted upon taking up three 
quarters of an hour’s time. Still, to 
the great astonishment of Buvat, this 
conduct appeared to singularly augment 
the friendship of Madam Denis for the 
young girl: for Madam Denis, who had 
heard in advance great eulogy upon 
Bathilde’s talents, notwithstanding her 
maternal pride, • was not without un- 
easiness upon the result of an artistic 
struggle' between the young pe rsons. 

Bathilde was covered with caresses by 
the good woman, who, when she depart- 
ed, affirmed to everybody that she was 
a per on full of modesty and talents, 
and that too much could not be said in 
her praise. A retired mercer having 
once raised his voice to speak of the 
strange position of the pupil so near the 
tutor. Madam Denis imposed silence to 
such bad language, saying that she knew 
the history, and that there was not the 
least detail dishonorable to lier two 
neighbors. It was a slight falsehood 
which Madam Denis uttered in pretend- 
ing to be so well informed, but without 
doubt, God pardoned it for the sake of 
the intention. 

As for Boniface, at the moment when 
he could not play leap frog or turn the 
cart wheel, he was a perfect nullity. 
He was that evening so surprisingly 
stupid that Bathilde, who attached no 
importance to such a being, paid him 
not the least attention. 

But it was not so with Boniface. J'he 
poor lad who had loved Bathilda on see- 
ing her at a distance, had become mad 
when she w'as near. It followed from this 
recrudescence of sentiment that Boniface 
never quitted his window, an action 
which naturally forced Bathilde to close 
hers ; for one may .recollect, Boniface 
inhabited then the chamber since occu- 
pied by the Chevalier d’Harmental. 

This conduct of Bathilde, in which it 
was impossible to see anything but mod- 
esty, could not but augment her neigh- 
bor’s passion. He spoke so to his 
mother that she went from the rue 
Page V in to the rue des Orties, where 


87 


THE BRIDE OF THE BA STILE. 


she learned from the questions which 
she put to an old portress who was al- 
most blind and deaf, something of the 
death scene which we have recounted, and 
in which Buvat had acted so line a part. 
The woman had forgotten the names of 
the principal personages, she only rec- 
ollected that the father had been an offi- 
cer and had been killed in Spain, and 
the mother a handsome young woman 
who liad died of grief and poverty. 
This was all that struck her, and why 
her recollections were so vivid was be- 
cause that catastrophe had happen- 
ed the same year as when her pug-dog 
had died. 

On his side, Boniface had gone in 
quest, and he had been apprised by his 
employer, M. Joulu, who was a friend of 
M. Ladureau, Buval’s notary, that, 
every year for ten years there had been 
placed with him five hundred francs an- 
nually with the interests amounted to 
the little principal of seven or eight 
thousand francs. This sum was very 
little to Boniface, who, with his mother’s 
consent, could count upon three thou- 
sand livres revenue ; but this capital, 
small as it was, proved that if Bathilde 
was far from having a fortune, she had 
no more dread of falling into poverty. 

Consequently, at the end of a month, 
during which Madam Denis saw that 
Boniface’s love had suffered no altera- 
tion, and, on her part esteeming Bathil- 
de, she decided upon making the demand 
in due form. So, one afternoon, Buvat 
returning from his desk at his customa- 
ry hour. Madam Denis awaited him at 
her door, and as he was entering his 
house, she made him comprehend by a 
sign of the l\and and a wink of the eye 
that she had something to tell him. 
Buvat perfectly comprehended this call, 
gallantly took his hat in his hand and 
followed Madam Denis who led him to 
the most remote chamber of her house, 
closed the door that no one might sur- 
prise them, made Buvat sit down, and 
when he was seated, majestically made 
the demand of Bathilde’s hand for her 
son Boniface. 

Madam Denis was too good an observ- 
er not to remark the strange effect pro- 
duced upon the nervous system of Bu- 
vat. She did not even wish to leave 


him in ignorance that so important a 
thing had passed unperceived ; she offer- 
ed him a flacon of salts, which ordinarily 
left on the mantel piece, in every one’s 
sight, to give her a reminder to repeat 
its use twice or thrice a week when her 
nerves were in extreme irritability. 
Buvat, who had lost his senses, instead 
of respiring the salts at simply a conve- 
nient distance from his nose, uncorked 
the bottle and thrust it up his nose. The 
effect of the tonic was rapid ! Buvat 
bounded to his feet as T the angel of 
II abakuk had grasped him by the hair ; 
his face changed from a faded white to 
the deepest crimson; he sneezed for ten 
minutes enough to blow off his nose ; 
then finally, when he was calm and had 
insensibly returned to the state he had 
been in when the proposition had been 
made, he replied that he comprehended 
all that was honorable in such a pr\)po- 
sal to his pupil, but that, as Madam 
Denis no doubt knew, he was^nly Bath- 
ilde’s teacher, a position which made it 
an obligation to transmit the demand to 
her, and at the same time a duty of 
leaving her entirely free to accept or re- 
fuse. Madam Denis found tlie reply 
very just and reconducted him to the 
door of the street, saying' that while 
waiting for the answer^ she prayed him 
to believe her l^is very humble ser- 
vant. 

Buvat ascended to his lodging to 
where he found Bathilde very uneasy ; 
he was half an hour later than usual, a 
thing which had not occurred one single 
time for ten years. The young girl’s 
inquietude redoubled when she saw 
Bu vat’s sad and preoccupied air. So 
she instantly wished to know what caus- 
ed Buvat’s lengthened visage. Buvat, 
who w’as not prepared, attempted to put 
off the explanation, until after dinner, 
but Bathilde declared that she would 
not sit down at b^J-hle until she knew 
what had happened. So Buvat was 
forced to tell his pupil, without any pre- 
paration whatever, the proposition of 
Madame Denis. 

Bathilde blushed at first as do all 
young women when marriage is spok^ui 
of ; then taking in her own the two hands 
of Buvat, who had seated himself that he 
might not fall, and looking in his face 


88 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


with that gentle smile which was the 
poor writer’s sun : 

So that, little father,” said she, ‘‘you 
have had enough of your poor child, and 
wish to get rid of me ?” 

“ I,” said Buvat, “ I wish to make you 
leave me ! But it is I who would die 
the day when you quit me !” 

“ Well, then, little hither !” respond- 
Bathilde, ‘‘ why do you come to speak 
of marriage 

“But,” said Buvat, “because — be- 
cause — one day you must be established 
and you will not perhaps find so good a 
portion, though, thank God, my little 
Bathilda deserves one better than M. 
Boniface.” 

“ No,” little father,” resumed Bath- 
ilde, “ no, 1 do not deserve better than 
M. Boniface; but ” 

“ Well, but?” 

“ But — I shall never marry.” 

“ What ?” said Buvat,“ you will nev- 
er marry ?” 

“Why should I?” demanded Bath- 
ilde. “ Are we not happy as we are ?” 

“ We are happy ! Sabre-de-bois !” 
crifjd Buvat, “I think that we are.” 

Sabre-de-bois was an oath which serv- 
ed Buvat, on great occasions and which 
indicated the good man’s peaceful incli- 
nations. 

“ Well !’' continued Bathilde with her 
angelic smile, “ if w-e aVe happy let us 
remain as w^e are. You know% little 
father, that we must not tempt God.” 

“ Stay,” said Buvat, “ embrace me, 
my child ! Ah ! it is as if you had lift- 
ed Montmartre from my breast.” 

“You do not desire this marriage?” 
demanded Bathilde, pressing her lips on 
the good man’s brow^ 

“ I, I desire the marriage !” said Bu- 
vat ; “ I wish to see you the w’ife of 
that little knave Bonifiice ; of that good- 
for-nothing w'retch who if I get him in 
my hands shall know wdiy ! I see it 
now !” 

“ If you do not desire tiiis marriage, 
why do you speak of it ?” 

“ Because you know that I am not 
your lather,” said Buvat ; “ because 

you know you are free.” 

“Really, am I free ?” said Bathilde 
laughing. 

“ Free as the air.” 


“ Well ! if I am free, I refuse.” 

“Diable! you refuse,” said Buvat* 
“ I am content ; but what shall I say to 
Madam Denis?” 

“What? Say that J am too young, 
say that I do not wish to marry, say 
that I wish to remain eternally with 

you-” 

“ Come to dinner,” said Buvat ; “ a 
good idea may come when we are eat- 
ing. It is droll, appetite has come back 
to one all at once. Just now% my 
stomach wuis so that it was impossible for 
me to swallow^ a drop of w^ater. Now, 
1 can drink the Seine.” 

Buvat eat like ogre, and drank like a 
Swiss ; but notwithstanding those in- 
fractions to hygiene habits, no good idea 
came to him : so he w'as obliged to say 
openly to Madam Denis that Bathilde 
w^as very honored by her proposal but 
that she would not marry. 

This unexpected reply surprised Mad- 
am Denis; she had never believed that an 
orphan like Bathilde could refuse such a 
brilliant party as her son ; she conse- 
quently received Bu vat’s refusal very 
drily, and she replied that every one 
W'as free to their choice, and that if 
Mademoiselle wmuld remain as Saint 
Catherine, she w'as entirely her own 
mistress. 

But w'hen she reflected upon this re- 
jection, w'hich she could not comprehend 
in maternal pride, the old calumnies she 
had heard made upon the young girl 
and her tutor, returned to her mind, and 
as she was then in a disposition to be- 
lieve anything, she had now no doubt 
that they w'ere truths. So, when she 
informed Boniface of his fair neighbor’s 
reply, she added, to console him for the 
matrimonial check, that it w^as fortunate 
that the negociations had been turned 
thus, for she had heard of some things 
w'hich, supposing that Bathilde had ac- 
cepted, would not have permitted her to 
conclude such an alliance. 

And more : Madam Denis thought 
that it W'as below the dignity of her 
son, after so humiliating a refusal, to 
preserve the chamber in the face of Ba- 
thilde’s, and she had prepared upon the 
garden, a much larger and finer room 
than the one AI. Boniface w as to (]uit. 

Eight days afterwards, as AI. Boniface, 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


89 


for revenge upon Bathilde, teased 
Mirza, who was at the door with his 
white paws outside. Mirza, to whom the 
habit of being petted had given a very 
irritable character, had rushed at M. 
Boniface and cruelly torn his leg. 

That is why the poor lad, who had a 
sick heart and his leg still painful, had 
so amicably counselled d’Har mental to 
beware of Bathilde’s coquetry, and to 
throw meat to Mirza. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

YOUNG LOVERS. 

Boniface’s room remained vacant 
three or four months, then one day Ba- 
thilde, who was in the habit of seeing 
the window closed, on raising her eyes, 
found it open; at this window was a 
strange form. It was that of d’Har- 
mental. 

Few figures like the chevalier’s were 
seen in the rueTemps-perdu. Bathilde, 
admirably placed behind her curtain so 
as to see without being seen, was forced 
to him despite herself. Indeed there 
was in our hei'o’s features an elegance 
and distinction which could not escape 
the eye of a woman like Bathilde ; the 
chevalier’s apparel, simple as it was, 
betrayed in him who wore it a perfect 
elegance ; in fine, he had given some 
orders, and these orders pronounced 
loud enough for Bathilde to hear them, 
had been given with that commanding 
tone of voice which indicated that the 
speaker had the natural habit of ruling. 

Something had then said to the young 
girl that she had under her eyes a man 
very superior to him he had succeeded 
in the possession of the little chamber, 
and with a natural instinct, she recog- 
nised him from thefirstas of gentle blood. 
The same day, the chevalier essayed his 
harpsichord. At the first sounds of the 
instrument, Bathilde had raised her 
head ; the chevalier, though ignorant 
that he was listened to, and perhaps be- 
cause be was ignorant, had revealed a 
musician of great powers, his fingers 
seemed to awaken all the musical chords 


in preludes and fantaisias. Bathilde 
had risen and had approached the 
window so as not to miss a note .; for 
such a distraction was unknown in the 
rue Temps-perdu : it was then that 
d’Harmental had perceived against the 
panes his neighbor’s charming little 
fingers which had disappeared on his 
turning around so hurriedly, leaving 
him no doubt but that he had been also 
seen. 

The next day, Bathilde thought that 
it was a hmg time since she had had 
music, and she took up her harpischord; 
she began trembling very much though 
entirely ignorant why she trembled ; 
but Is, after all, she was an excellent 
musician, the trembling passed away, 
and then it had been that she so bril- 
liantly executed that piece of Armide 
which had been heard with so much 
astonishment by the chevalier and the 
Abbe Brigand. 

We have related how, the following 
morning, the chevalier had remarked 
Buvat, and how he had been acquainted 
with Bathilde’s name, when she was call- 
ed out by her tutor upon the roof to 
view the fountain in full activity. The 
young girl’s appearance had made a deep 
impression upon the chevalier, which he 
wao far from expecting from the sight of 
the house -and quartier ; and he was still 
under the charm, when the entrance of 
Captain Roquefinette, to whom he had 
given an appointment, had come, giving 
a new course to his thoughts, which in- 
stantly returned to Bathilde. 

The day after it was Bathilde ^who, 
profiting by the first uay of the spring 
sun, was at the window : in fier turn, she 
had seen the chevalier’s eyes fixed ar- 
dently upon her : she had again viewed, 
that countenance full of youth, to which 
the thought of the conspiracy which he 
had undertaken gave a certain sad stern- 
ness ;«sbut, sadness and youth seem so 
badly together, that the anomaly had 
struck her. What sorrow could he have ? 
On the second day when she discerned 
him, Bathilde was naturally/led to occu- 
py herself with the chevalier. 

This had not prevented Bathilde clos- 
ing her window, but, behind the curtain, 
she had seen d’flarmental’s sad features 
become gloomy. Then she comprehend- 


90 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


ed that she had caused pain to the young 
man, and, without knowing why, she 
took up her harpsichord ; was it not be- 
cause she suspected that music was the 
best consoler of pains of the heart? 

That evening, d’Harmental played 
upon his harpsichord, and Bathilde had 
then listened with all her attention to 
that melodious voice which sang of love 
in the midst of night. Unfortunately 
for the chevalier, who, having seen the 
young girl’s shadow defined upon the 
curtains, had commenced to believe that 
he had a way of communication with 
the other side of the street, he had been 
interrupted in his finest passage by his 
neighbor on the third floor ; but already 
a great deal had been done : there was a 
point of contact between the two yoiing 
people, and already they spoke the lan- 
guage of love, the most dangerous of all. 

The next morning, Bathilde, who had 
dreamed all the night of the music and 
some little of the musician, feeling that 
something strange and unknown to her 
would force her to the window, kept her 
window so scrupulously shut that the 
chevalier, in a moment of ill humor, had 
descended to Madam Denis. 

There he was apprised of great news : 
Bathilde was neither the daughter, the 
wife, nor the neice of Buvat ; so he as- 
cended joyfully, and, finding the window 
open, had made, notwithstanding Boni- 
face’s charitable advice, a direct commu- 
nication with Mirza by the corruptive 
means of lumps of sugar. The unex- 
pected return of Bathilde had interrupt- 
ed tl^is exercise; the chevalier, in his 
delicaby, had put down his window ; but 
before the window w^as shut, a salute 
had been exchanged between the two 
young persons : it was not that Bathilde 
had never accorded one to a man, for 
she had, from time to time, saluted some 
of Buvat’s acquaintances, but this was 
the first time she had blushed while so 
doing. 

On the morrow, Bathilde had seen the 
chevalier open his window, and, without 
understanding the action, nail a scarlet 
ribbon to the exterior wall : what she 
had specially remarked was the extraor- 
dinary animation upon the chevalier’s 
countenance.' As our reader will recol- 
lect, the scarlet ribbon was a signal, and. 


in making this signal, the chevalier 
made perhaps the first step towards the 
scafibld. Half an hour afterwards, 
there had appeared, behind the cheva- 
lier, a person totally unknown to Ba- 
thilde, but one whose appearance was 
but little encouraging : it was Captain 
Roquefinette ; so Bathilde had remark- 
ed with much uneasiness that the instant 
the man with the long sword had enter- 
ed, the chevalier had quickly closed his 
window. 

The chevalier had a long conference 
with the captain, for he was to regulate 
all the preparations for the evening’s en- 
terprise : the chevalier’s window was 
then so long a time shut, that Bathilde, 
believing him out, had thought she could, 
without inconvenience, open her own. 

But scarcely had it been opened than 
that of her neighbor, who seemed but to 
have waited for that moment to place 
himself in contact with her,, opened in 
its turn. Fortunately for Bathilde, wha 
was much embarrassed by the coinci- 
dence, she was then in a part of the room 
where the chevalier could not discern 
her. She resolved then to leave things 
as they were, and established herself by 
the second window which was closed. 

But Mirza, who had not the same 
scruples as her mistress, had hardly per- 
ceived the chevalier than she ran to the 
window and leaped upon it with her 
hind paws. These incitings were recom- 
pensed, as was expected, by a first, a 
second and a third lump of sugar ; but 
the third piece, to Bathilde’s great aston- 
ishment, was wrapped up in a roll of 
paper. 

This piece of paper inquieted Bath- 
ilde more than it did Mirza, for the dog, 
lozenges and candy having often been 
given her rolled up for pleasantry, had 
instantly torn the sugar from its envel- 
ope with her paws, and, as she thought 
more of the contents than the envelope, 
she eat the sugar, left the paper and ran 
to the window, but no more came from 
the chevalier; satisfied doubtless with 
Mirza’s skill, he had closed his widow. 

Bathilde was much embarrassed ; she 
had seen with a glance that the paper 
had three or four lines of writing upon 
it. But, evidently, if her neighbor did 
feel some friendship for Mirza, it could 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


9} 


not have been to Mirza he wrote ; the 
letter was tor Bathilde. 

But what was to be done with this 
letter ? to rise and destroy it, that was 
certainly noble and dignified ; but if 
this paper, serving as an envelope, was 
written long before, the severe act in 
question would be ridiculous ; it indicat- 
ed besides that it was thought to be a 
letter, and, if it was not one, such a 
thought would be very strange ; Bath- 
ilde then resolved to leave everything 
as they were. The chevalier could form 
no idea but that the letter remained in- 
tact where it was; she continued to work, 
or rather to reflect, hidden behind the 
curtain, as probably the chevalier was 
concealed behind his. 

At the end of an hour of waiting, of 
which Bathilde, it must be avowed, pass- 
ed three quarters with her eyes fixed 
upon the paper, Nanette entered ; Bath- 
ilde, without changing her place, ordered 
her to close the window ; Nanette obey- 
ed, but she observed the paper. 

What is this?” asked the good 'wo- 
man, stooping to pick it up. 

‘‘ Nothing,” quickly replied Bathilde, 
forgetting that Nanette could not l ead, 

some paper which fell from my pock- 
et.” Then, after an instant’s pause, and 
a visible effort — ‘‘ and you can throw' 
it into the fire,” added she. 

‘‘But, if it is an important paper,” 
said Nanette. “ See at least what it is. 
Mademoiselle.” 

And she presented the paper opened 
w'ith the written side up to Bathilde. 

The temptation was too strong to re- 
sist. Bathilde cast her eyes upon the 
paper, affecting as well as she could an 
indifferent air, and read as follow^s : 

“ They say that you are an orphan ; 1 
am without parents ! we are as brother 
and sister before God. This evening I 
run a great danger ; but I hope 1 shall 
return safe and sound, if my sister Bath- 
ilde will pray for her brother 

Raoul.” 

“ You are right,” said Bathilde, in a 
moved voice taking the paper from Nan- 
ette’s hands, “ this paper is more impor- 
tant than I believed,” and she put d’Har- 
mental’s letter in the pocket of her 
apron. 


Soon afterw'ards, Nanette, who en- 
tered,as she entered twenty times a day, 
without a motive, went out, and Bath- 
ilde was left alone. 

Bathilde had only throwm a glance 
upon the paper and she had remained as 
it dazzled. The instant Nanette closed 
the door, she opened it and read it the 
second time. 

It was impossible to have more mean- 
ing in less lines: d’Harmental might 
have spent an entire day in combining 
each Word ot the note which had been 
w'ritten with inspiration, but lie could 
not have formed one so skilfully. In- 
deed it establ.shed at once an equality 
of position w hich reassured the orphan 
upon any social superiority ; it interested 
Bathilde within the fate of her neighbor, 
whom danger menaced, a danger which 
appeared the greater to the young girl 
as it remained to her unknown. In fine, 
the words brother and sister, so adroitly 
slipped into the end, and the asking 
that sister a single prayer fur her 
brother, excluded from their first rela- 
tions all idea of love. 

So, if Bathilde had found herself be- 
fore d’Harmental at this moment even, 
instead of be'mg disturbed and blushing 
like a young girl who had received her 
first love-letter, she wmuld have held out 
her hand and said to him smiling. “ Be 
tranquil, I will pray for you.” 

But that w'hich remained in Bathilde’s 
mind otherwise more dangerous than 
all the declarations in the world w'as 
the idea of that peril wdiich her neigh- 
bor ran. By a sort of presentment 
which had struck her on seeing him, w ith 
a visage so changed, nail that scarlet 
ribbon to the wfindow, and take it oft' on 
the entrance of the captain, she was sure 
that the danger attached him to this 
new personage, wdioni she had never be- 
fore seen. But in w'hat manner did the 
danger attach to him “? of w'hat nature 
was the danger itself? This w'as what 
it w'as impossible to comprehend. 
Her idea stopped once upon a duel ; 
but for such a man as the chevalier ap- 
peared to be, a duel could not be one ot 
those dangers for w'hich a woman’s 
prayer would be claimed. Besides, 
the hour was not one when duels wei-e 
in the habit of taking place. Bathilde 


92 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


was bewilder 'd amid suppositions; but 
in the bewilderment she thought of the 
chevalier, always of the chevalier, of no 
one else but the chevalier ; and if he 
had calculated upon her state of mind, 
it must be said, his calculation was of 
miraculous justness for poor Bathilde. 

The day passed without Bathilde see- 
ing Raoul reappear ; either by strate- 
getical manoeuvre or because he was 
away the window remained obstinately 
closed. So when Buvat entered, pur- 
suant to his habit, at ten minutes past 
four, he found the young girl so preoc- 
cupied, that, though his clear sighted- 
ness was no ways wonderful in such 
matters, he asked her three or four times 
what would she have ; each time Ba- 
thilde replied with that smile which 
made Buvat, when she smiled thus, 
think of nothing but looking upon ber ; 
it followed that, notwithstanding these 
reiterated interpositions Bathilda guard- 
ed her secret. 

After dinner M. de Chaulieu who was 
one of Buvat’s best patrons coming often 
to the copyist’s house, for he had a great 
affection for Bathilde : the poor abbe 
was almost blind, but yet not so much 
as not to appreciate a pretty face ; dt is 
true that he saw one as through a cloud. 
So, the Abbe de Chaulieu had said in 
his sexagenarian gallantry to Bathilde, 
that the only thing that consoled him 
was, that it was thus one saw angels. 

Buvat never missed keeping his ap- 
pointment, and Bathilde thanked from 
the bottom of her heart the good abbe 
who had thus givt-n an evening of soli- 
tude to her ; she knew that when Buvat 
went to M. de Chaulieu’s house, he had 
ordinarily long sittings ; she hoped then 
that as usual he would return late. 
Poor Buvat he went out without suspect- 
ing that, for the first time, his absence 
was desired. 

Buvat was a lounger as are all Parisian 
citizens. • From one end to the other 
of the Palais Royal he peeped into the 
stores, stopping for the thousandth time 
before the same objects which always 
awakened his ad m ration. On leaving 
the gallery, he heard music, and seeing 
a group of men and women, he joined 
them and listened to the singing. At 
the moment when the collection began 


he moved away, not because he had a 
bad heart, nor because he had the inten- 
tion of refusing to the estimable per- 
former the recompense he had a right 
to ; but from an old habit which custom 
had demonstrated the excellence of, he al- 
ways went out with no money, so that if 
anything tempted him, he was sure not 
to yield to that temptation. This eve- 
ning he had great inclination to drop a 
sou into the musician’s bowl, but as he 
had not a sou in his pocket, he was 
forced to go off. 

He proceeded then, as we have seen, 
towards the Barrier des Sergents, 
through the rue du Coq, crossed the 
Port Neuf and descended the quai Conti 
to the rue Mazarine ; it was i.i the rue 
Mazarine that the Abbe de Chaulieu 
resided. The Abbe de Chaulieu re- 
ceived Buvat, whose excellent qualities 
during their two years’ acquaintance he 
had appreciated, as he was in the custom 
of receiving him, that is to say that’ 
after many entreaties on his part, and 
many remonstrances from Buvat, be 
made him sit down near him before a 
table covered with papers ; it is true 
that Buvat seated himself in such a way 
upon the edge of the chair, and estab- 
lished his legs in such a position so per- 
fectly geometrical, that it was difficult 
at first sight to know whether he was 
standing or seated : yet little by little 
he fell back in his chair, took his cane 
between his legs, deposited his hat upon 
the floor, and found himself finally as 
well seated as any one in the world. 

The abbe and Buvat were so busy cor- 
recting and arranging and classing the 
poetry that when eleven o’clock sound- 
ed they both thought it w^as onl}^ nine. 

They were just at the last paper ; Bu- 
vat arose all fearful of being lorced to 
return home at that hour, tlie like thing 
having never before happened ; he roll- 
ed up the manuscript, tied it with a 
rose-colored ribbon, which had proba- 
bly served Mademoiselle de Launay as 
a girdle, put it in his pocket, took his 
hat and left the abbe, abridging as much 
as possible the leave he was taking of 
him. To double the misfortune, there 
was not the least glimmer of moonlight 
and the sky was cloudy. 

Buvat then regretted that he had not 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


93 


at least two sous in his pocket to cross 
the ferry which was at that period where 
is now the Pont des Arts ; but we have 
explained to our readers Buvat's theory 
in that respect, so Buvat was forced to 
turn, asjie had done in coming, by the 
quai Conti, the Pont Neuf, the rue de 
Coq, and the rue Saint Honore. 

All had went well, and, apart from 
the statue of Henry IV. of which Buvat 
had forgotten the existence and which 
caused Mm a great fright, the Samaritan 
clock, which, fifty paces farther, had 
suddenly sounded, without the slightest 
preparation whatever, the hall-hour, and 
its unexpected clang had made the 
poor belated Buva^t shudder from head 
to foot, he had run no real peril : but, 
on coming to the rue des Bons-Enfants, 
the condition of affairs was changed ; at 
first the aspect of the long and narrow 
street, lit up along its whole length by 
the glimmering light of two lanterns 
only, was not in the least encouraging : 
then it had this evening taken in Buvat’s 
eyes, a particular look. Buvat knew not 
whether he was awake or asleep, if it 
was a dream or if he was truly in the 
face of some fantastic vision raised by 
sorcery : all seemed alive in the street : 
posts rose up in his passage, ominous 
whispers came from the shadows of the 
door, men crossed like phantoms from 
one side^of the street to the other ; in 
short, arriving before No. 24, he had, as 
we have said, stopped abruptly in front 
of the chevalier and the captain. It was 
then that d’Harmental, recognizing him, 
had shielded him from Roquefinette’s 
first.movement, and urged him to con- 
tinue his way as quick as [) 0 ssible ; Bu- 
vat had started off, had gained the Place 
des Victoires, the rue du 'Mail, the rue 
du Montmartre, and at last reached his 
house. No. 4 rue du Temps-perdu, where 
he did not then believe himself in safety 
until he had shut and bolted the door 
behind him. 

There he had stopped, drawn a full 
breath, lit his candle which wavered to 
and fro in his trembling hand like a 
rat’s tail, then he had mounted the steps, 
feeling in his limbs the effects of the 
event, for his legs shook so that it was 
only with great pains be finally came to 
the landing-place. 


As for Bathilde, she had remained 
alone, more and mo e uneasy as the eve- 
ning adv^anced. Until seven o’clock she 
had seen a light in her neighbor’s cham- 
ber ; but at that hour the light had dis- 
appeared and the following hours passed 
without another fight appearing. Then 
Bathilde’s time was divided between 
two occupations ; one to stand at the 
window to see if her neighbor had re- 
turned, the other tf) go and pray before 
the crucifix where every night she had 
prayed. Thus it was that she had suc- 
cessively heard nine, ten, eleven, and 
half after eleven sound; it was thus she 
heard the voices from the street cease 
one after another, all falling into that 
dull and vague murmur which seems as 
the breathing of the sleeping city, and 
which, without anything coming to her 
to announce the danger which had be- 
fallen him to whom the name of her 
brother had been given, was soon dissi- 
pated. She was in her chamber, with- 
out light herself that no one could see 
that she watched, laieeling for the tenth 
time perhaps, before the crucifix, when 
her door opened and she perceived, by 
the light of his candle, Buvat, so pale 
and terrified, that she saw at once that 
something had happened and she darted 
to him to ask what it was. But it was 
not an easy thing to make Buvat speak 
in the state he was in ; the fear had pass- 
ed from his body to his mind, and his 
tongue was as much troubled as his legs 
were trembling. 

When Buvat was seated upon his arm- 
chair, when he had wiped his sweaty 
brow with his handkerchief, when he 
had, shaking and half-rising, turned his 
eyes two or three times to the door, to 
see if the terrible men of the rue des 
Bons-Enfants had not pursued him to his 
pupil, he began to stammer forth a reci- 
tal of his adventure, relating how he had 
been stopped in the rue des Bons-En- 
fants by a band of robbers, their lieuten- 
ant, a ferocious looking man six feet 
high, going to put him to death, when 
the captain had interposed and saved his 
life. 

Bathilde listened to him with deep at- 
tention, first because she sincerely loved 
her tutor, and that the state in which 
she saw him attested that seriously, 


94 


THK OTrAVOK rt.UME ; OR, 


wrong or right, he had been struck with 
a great terror, finally because nothing 
which happened that night was indiffer- 
ent to her ; strange as was the idea, she 
thought that the young man was not a 
stranger to the scene which poor Buvat 
had passed through, and she asked him 
from time to time if he had seen the 
young captain who had came to his aid 
and saved his life. Buvat replied that 
he had seen him face to face, as he saw 
her at the moment, and that the proof 
w^as that he was a fine young man 
twenty-six or twenty-eight years old, 
wearing a broad^brirnmed hat and wrap- 
ped up in a large cloak : and more, by 
the movement which he made in extend- 
ing his hand to protect him, the cloak 
had opened and he saw beside his sword, 
that he had a brace of pistols in his 
belt. 

These details were too precise for Bu- 
vat to be accused of being visionary. 
So, all preoccupied as Bathilde was that 
the chevalier’s danger was connected 
with the events, she was not the less 
moved by that, less great no doubt, but 
still real, which Buvat had run, and as 
repose is the sovereign remedy for all 
moral and physical shocks, after having 
offered Buvat the glass of wine and 
sugar permitted on great occasions, she 
spoke to him of retiring. The shock 
was so violent that Buvat had no desire 
to sleep and was fully convinced that 
he should pass a poor night’s rest. But 
he reflected that if he kept awake, he 
made Bathilde sit up ; he saw her in the 
morning with pallid face and red eyes, 
and with his eternal abnegation, he re- 
plied to Bathilde that she was right, 
that he felt that sleep would do him 
good, lit his candle, kissed her forehead 
and mounted to his chamber, not with- 
out stopping half a dozen times upon 
the stairs to listen if there was not a 
noise. 

Once more alone, Bathilde listened 
to Buvat until she heard the sound of 
his key turning in the lock, he giving it 
a double turn. Then, almost as tremb- 
ling as the poor copyist, she ran to the 
window, forgetting, in her anxious ex- 
pectation, everything, ev6n prayer. 

She remained thus for an hour or 
more, without having a single thought 


of time ; then she all at once uttered a 
joyful cry. Through the glasses, which 
obstructed the view of neither window, 
she saw her neighbor’s door open and 
d’Harmental appeared upon the sill with 
a candle in his hand. By a miracle of 
divination Bathilde was not deceived, 
the man in the felt hat and large mantle 
who had protected Buvat was indeed 
the strange young man, for the chevalier 
had a wide-brimmed felt hat and a large 
cloak. Scarcely had he entered and shut 
the door, with almost as much precau- 
tion as Buvat had taken with his own, 
than he threw the cloak upon a chair ; 
under the mantle, he had a dark-colored 
doublet and in his belt his sword and a 
pair of pistols ; there could be no doubt, 
it was really he whom Buvat had seen. 
Bathilde was more convinced when 
d’Harmental, without laying down the 
the weapons, made three or four turns 
of his chamber, with folded arms and 
in deep thought ; then he took the two 
pistols from his belt, assured himself 
they were in proper order, and laid 
them upon the table, unclasped his 
sword, drew it half from its sheath, and 
slid it under his bolster; then, shaking 
his head as if to drive away gloomy 
ideas, he approached the window, 
opened it and glanced so piercingly to- 
wards that of the young girl, that she, 
forgetting that she could not be seen, 
stepped backward, letting the curtain fall 
behind her, as if the darkness around 
her was not enough to conceal her from 
his sight. 

She remained thus for ten minutes, 
motionless, with her hand pressed upon 
her heart to still the beatings : then she 
gently pulled aside the curtain, but her 
neighbor’s had fallen and all she could 
see was his shadow passing to and fro 
behind it. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE REGENT. 

The day following the night when the 
events which we have related took place, 
the Duke of Orleans, who had entered 
the Palais Royal without accident, after 
having slept all the night as usual, pas- 
sed into his cabinet at his customary 


0 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


95 


hour, that is eleven o’clock of the mor- 
ning. Tha;;ks to that reckless character 
which he owed to his great courage, to his 
scorn tor danger and his not caring for 
death, not only was it impossible to re- 
mark aii}^ change in his usual calm 
features, which weariness alone could 
doud, but yet, in all probability, he had 
already, in sleep, forgotten the singular 
design to which he might have fallen a 
a vie im. 

The cabinet within which he had en- 
tered was only remarkable for being at 
once that of a politician, a philosopher 
and an artist. 

A large table covered with a green 
cioih, loaded with papers, inkstands and 
pens, stood in the centre of the apart- 
ment, but upon desks, upon the easels, 
upv)n supports, were an opera just com- 
snenced, or a design half finished, and a 
retort three-quarters full. 

Here it was that the Regent with a 
strange versatility of mind, passed in an 
instant from the most profound combi- 
nations of politics, the most capricious 
fantasies of drawing, and the most ab- 
striise calculations of chemistry to the 
most joyous or the most gloomy inspi- 
rations of music; here it was that the 
Regent feared nothing so much as wea- 
l iiiess, that enemy which he combatted 
with without cessation, without ever van- 
quishing it, and which urged him to la- 
bor, to study or pleasure, keeping al- 
ways in iiis sight, if one may say, like 
one of those clouds in the horizon upon 
which in the hnest days, the pilot fixes 
his eye. against his wish. So the Regent 
had never an unoccupied hour, and con- 
>5e([ueiitly was compelled to have the 
most oppo.site distractions under his 
ii;»nd. 

Hardly had he entered this apartment 
where the council were to assemble in 
Iwo hours more, than he continued a de- 
sign which represented Daphnis and 
Chloe, already commenced, which he had 
afterwards engraved by one of the artists 
of that day, named Audran, and which 
work had been interruped tw'o nights 
before that famous game of tennis which 
iiad b(‘gun with a blow of a racket and 
which had finished by the supper at 
jNiadam de Sabran’s. But hardly had he 
taken up the crayon, than they came to 


say Madame Elisabeth Charlotte, his 
mother, had already demanded twice if 
he was to be seen. 

The Regent who had the greatest re- 
spect for the princess palatine, replied 
that, not only was he visible, but that 
if Madame was ready to receive him he 
was eager to go to her. The usher 
went out with the prince’s response, and 
the prince, who was at certain parts of 
the design which were taken from real- 
ity, resumed his work with all the ap- 
plication of an enraptured artist. An 
instant after the door again opened, but 
instead of the usher, who should have 
returned to render an account of his mes- 
sage, it was Madame herself who ap- 
peared. 

Madame, wife of Philip the First, 
brother of the king, had come to France 
after the strange and unforeseen death 
of Henrietta of England to take the 
place of that fair princess who had pas- 
sed away like a pale apparition. The 
comparison, difficult to sustain in new 
comers,was thenceforth against the poor 
German princess, who, if her own por- 
trait was to be believed, with her little 
eyes, short fat nose, long flat lips, her 
hanging cheeks and long face was far 
from being pretty. 

Unfortunately still, the princess pala- 
tine had no perfection of form to coun- 
terbalance the faults of her features ; 
she was small and stout, with short body 
and limbs, and hands so* frightful that 
she avowed herself that they were the 
most villainous of any in the world, and 
that was the only thing about her per- 
son to which king Loiiis the Fourteenth 
could never habituate himself. But 
Louis XIV. had chosen her not to aug- 
ment the number of the beauties of his 
court, but to extend his pretentions be- 
yond the Rhine. By the marriage of 
his brother to the princess palatine, 
Louis XIV., who had already hereditary 
chances upon Spain in espousing the 
Infanta Marie Theresa, daughter of King 
Philip IV., and upon England in mar- 
rying Philip I. to Princess Henrietta, 
only sister to Cliarles II., would acquire 
again eventual rights upon Bavaria and 
probably upon the Palatinate, in mar- 
rying his brother by a second wedding 
to Princess Elisabeth Charlotte, whose 


96 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


brother, of delicate health, might die 
young and without issue. 

This foresight was just; the Elector 
died without posterity, and one can see 
how, in the negociations for the Peace 
of Ryswick, the moment arriving, the 
French plenipotentiaries succeeded in his 
pretensions. 

So Madame, instead of being treated, 
at the death of her husband, according 
to the marriage-contract, that is to say, 
instead of being forced to enter a con- 
vent or retire within the old chateau of 
Montargis, was, notwithstanding Mad- 
am de Main tenon’s hate which she re- 
turned, maintained by Louis XIV. witF 
all the titles and honors which she en- 
joyed in her husband’s lifetime, though 
the King could never forget the aristo- 
cratic cuff she had given to the young 
Duke de Chartres at Versailles when he 
had announced his marriage with Mad- 
emoiselle de Blois. 

The fiery Palatine, proud of her 
thirty-two paternal and maternal de- 
scents, regarded as a great and humil- 
iating mesalliance that her son should 
espouse a woman whose royal legitimi- 
zation could be but the fruit of a double 
adultery ; and, in the first moment when 
incapable of governing her sentiments, 
she had avenged with that maternal cor- 
rection, a little exaggerated when it was 
a young man of eighteen years w^ho 
was the object, the affront upon her an- 
cestors in the person of her descendants. 
Besides, as the Duke de Chartres con- 
sented himself to this marriage against 
his w ill, he comprehended very well the 
ill humor of his mother, though he no 
doubt would have preferred it manifest- 
ed in a less Teutonic manner. 

It followed that when the King’s 
brother died, and the Duke de Chartres 
became the Duke of Orleans in his turn, 
his mother, who feared that the box on 
the ear at Versailles would leave its im- 
pression upon the new master of the 
Palais Royal, found on the contrary a 
son more respectful than ever. This 
respect grew greater, and, becoming 
Regent, the son placed the mother in a 
position equal to that of his wife. He 
did more : Madam de Berry, his well 
beloved daughter, having demanded a 
company of guards from her father, to 


which she pretended she had a right as 
wdfe of a Dauphin of France, the Re- 
gent accorded it to her giving at the 
same time the order for a similar com- 
pany to be placed at his mother’s ser- 
vice. 

Madame was then in a high position, 
and if despite that position, she had no 
political influence, it was because the 
Regent had always a principle not to al- 
low women to intermeddle with State 
affairs. Perhaps even, Philip IL, Re- 
gent of France, was still more reserved 
with his mother than to his mistresses, 
for he knew^ the former’s epistolary 
tastes, and did not wish his plans baf- 
fled by the daily correspondence which 
his mother kept up with Wilhemina 
Charlotte, Princess of Wales, and the 
Duke Antoine Ulric of Brunswick. 

In exchange and for indemnification 
for this reserve he left the interior gov- 
ernment of the house of his children, 
w'ho, in her great idleness, Madam la 
Duchess of Orleans abandoned, to hex 
mother-in-law^ 

But under all this, the poor Palatine, 
if w^e trust to the memoirs of the 
times, was not happy. Madam de 
Berry lived publicly with Riorn, and 
Mademoiselle de Valois was secretly 
the mistress of Richelieu, who, without 
any one knowing in what w^ay and as if 
he had the magic ring of Gyges, could 
come into her apartments notwithstand- 
ing the guards at the doors, the spies 
who surrounded the Regent, and though 
he himself was more than once con- 
cealed to watch. 

As for Mademoiselle de Chartres., 
whose character had taken a develop- 
ment more masculine than feminine, 
forgetting that men existed, when, some 
days before those of which w'e wrote, 
being at the Opera and hearing her mu- 
ic master, Cauchereau, a fine tenor of 
the Royal Academy, make, in a love 
scene, a sound of perfect purity and of 
the most passionate expression, Ihe 
young princess, carided away doubtless 
by an artistic sentiment, had thro\^^n up 
her arms and had exclaimed in a loud 
voice ! Ah ! my dear Cauchereau 1” 
This unexpected cry had given strong 
suspicions to her mother the Duchess, 
who had instantly dismissed the hand* 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


97 


some tenor, and had decided to watch 
her child henceforth herself, which since 
then she did severely. 

There remained the princess Louise, 
who was aftei wards Queen of Spain, and 
Mademoiselle Elizabeth who became 
Duchess of Loraine ; but of them, 
either they were really wiser, or could 
better suppress the sentiments of the 
heart than their elder sister, little is 
known. 

When the prince saw his mother ap- 
pear, lie expected that there was again 
something new of the rebellious troop 
under her direction, which gave liiin so 
great a trouble ; but as no uneasiness 
could make him forget the respect he in 
public and in private bore to his mother, 
he rose on perceiving her, went straight 
to her, and after bowing, took her by the 
hand and led her to a chair, while he 
himself remained standing. 

‘fWell! Monsieur my son,^’ said 
Madame, with a strongly pronounced 
German accent, when she was squarely 
seated upon the chair, “ what do 1 hear 
again, what event happened to you last 
evening 1” 

Last evening T’ said the Regent re- 
calling his thoughts and questioning 
himself. 

‘‘ Yes,” resumed the princess palatine, 
'‘last evening, on leaving Madam Sa- 
bran^s.” 

“ Oh, what was that ?” returned the 
prince. 

“What? Your friend Simiane said 
that they tried to carry you off, and that 
you escaped but by climbing over the 
roofs : a singular way you will allow, 
for the Regent of the Kingdom, and 
where 1 suppose that, devoted as they 
are to you, your ministers will consent 
to go to hold their council !” 

“ Simiane is a fool, mother,” replied 
the Regent, who could scarcely resirain 
his laughter at his mother scolding 
him as if he were a child. It was not 
in the least I whom they wished to 
carry off, it was only some good fellows 
who, leaving the cabarets of theBarri- 
ere des Sergents, had gone to make a 
racket in the rue des Bons-Enfants, As 
for the road which we followed, it was 
not to fly that we took it but it w'as to 
win a wager which that drunkard Simi- 
ane is angry at having lost.” 


“ My son, my son,” said the princess 
shirking her head, “ you will never be- 
lieve in danger though you know of 
what your enemies are capable. Those 
who calumniate the soul will have no 
great scruples believe me, to slay the 
body; and you know that the Duchess 
du Maine said: That the day she saw 
they had decided upon making a bastaxd 
of her husband, she would demand an 
audience and bury a dagger in your 
heart !” 

“ Bah ! mother,” said the Regent 
laughing, “ have you become so good a 
Catholic as not to believe in predestina- 
tion? Would you have me torture my 
mind to avoid a danger which does not 
exist, or which if it exists, has its result 
written beforehand in the eternal book ? 
No, mother, no, all these exaggerated 
precautions are good to make life gloomy 
and for no other purpose. It is tyrants 
that tremble, but 1, I who am, what 
Saint Simon pretends, the most meek 
man who has ever existed since Louis 
le Debonaire, what have I to fear ?” 

“ Oh ! my dear son, nothing,” said 
the princess palatine taking the Regent’s 
hand and regarding him with all the ma- 
ternal tenderness which her Lttle eyes 
could contain ; “ nothing, if every one 
knew you like I do, and you know very 
well that you have not the power to hate 
your enemies ; but Henry the Fourth, 
whom you unfortunately resemble in 
some respects, was good also, and yet 
did he not meet a Ravaillac. Alas ! 
memGott!’'^ continued the princess in- 
termingling her French jargon with an 
exclamation purely German “ they are 
the good kings who are a sassinaled; 
tyrants take their precautions, and the 
dagger never touches their breasts. 
You should not go without an escort. 
It is you, and not I, my son, who have 
need of a regiment of guards.” 

“ Mother,” said the Regent “ as I pre- 
suiiie that you did not come here with 
the sole intention of moralizing upon 
my nocturnal courses, and that it was 
to speak of business, I am ready to list- 
en to you and to answer you seriously 
upon the subject of your visit.” 

“Oh, you are righi;,” said the prin- 
cess, “ 1 came indeed for another thing ; 

1 came to speak to you of Madam- 
oiselle de Chartres.” 


98 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


** Ahj yes ! of your flivorite, mother; 
for you cannot deny Louise is your fa- 
vorite. The less she loves her uncle 
the more you love her.’' 

No, it is not that, though f avow 
I am happy to see her of my opinion ; 
but slie is exactly as I was at her age, 
having true tastes for lads, loving dogs, 
horses, and cavalcades, burning powder 
like artillerymen, and making fusees 
like a pyrotechnist. Well ! can you not 
guess what has happened to her?” 

“She wishes to be enrolled in the 
French guards ?” 

“ No, she wishes to be a nun.” 

“ A nun 1 Louisa! impossible, mo- 
ther ! It is some jest upon her sisters’ 
follies.” 

“ Not so. Monsieur,” replied the prin- 
cess palatine, “ there is no jesting in it, I 
swear to you.” 

“ And how the devil did this cl austral 
rage take her ?” demanded the Regent, 
commencing to believe the truth of his 
mother’s words, habituated as he was to 
live in an age when the most extrava- 
gant ideas were all the more probable. 

“ How^ did it take her ?” continued the 
princess, “ ask of God or of the devil 
for either, the one or the other can know 
it. Two days ago, she passed the day 
Avith her sister, mounted a horse, shot 
'with a pistol, laughed and w'as as gay as 
d had never before een her; when that 
'evening, Madam of Orleans prayed me 
to step into her room. There 1 found 
Mademoiselle de Chartres on her knees 
belbre her mother, begging her, with 
•tears in her eyes, to allow her to turn 
devotee at the Abbey of Chelles. Her 
-mother turned then to me and said : 

“What do you think of this request, 
Madame ?” 

“ ‘ J think,’ said 1, “ that the devotions 
are wdll enough, biit the place is no- 
thins:! But on hearing these words, 
Mademoiselle de Chartres redoubled her 
prayers, and I said to her mother ; 
‘ My child, it is for you to decide.’ 
■* Dame,’ replied the duchess, ‘ one can- 
not prevent the p(;or child from paying 
her devotions.’ ‘ Let iier do so then,’ 
said 1, ‘ and God preserve her if she 
perseveres in that intention !’ ‘ I swear 

to you, Madame,’ said Mademoiselle de 
Chartres, ‘ that it is God alone, and not 


a worldly reason which leads me.’ Then 
she embraced us, and yesterday morn- 
ing at seven o’clock, she departed.” 

“ Well ! I know all that for I ought to 
have conducted her,” replied the Regent. 
“ There has something else occurred ?” 

“ She sent last night the coach back, 
charging the coachman with a letter ad- 
dressed to you, to her mother and to 
me, in which she declares that, finding 
in that cloister the peace and tranquillity 
she had never hoped f >r in this world, 
she would go out no more.” 

“ And what does her mother say of 
that fine resolve ?” demanded the Regent 
taking the letter. 

“ Her mother resumed the princess, 
“her mother is quite content, I believe, 
if you wish me to tell my opinion; for 
she likes convents and she looks upon it 
as a great blessing that her diild should 
be a nun; but for me, I say that there 
is very little happiness in the vocatipn.” 

The Regent read and re-read the letter 
to divine, in the simple manifestation of 
the desire expressed by Madamoiselle 
de Chartres to remain at Chelles, the 
secret causes which had given birth to 
that desire ; then, after an instant of 
meditation as profound as if he w'as pon- 
dering upon the fate of an empire : 

“ There is below all some vexation of 
love,” said he. “ To your acquaintance, 
mother, does Louise love any one?” 

Madame related then the adventure 
at the Opera to the Regent, and the ex- 
clamation which had escaped from the 
mouth of the princess in the enthusiasm 
for the handsome tenor. 

“ Diable !” said the Regent. “ What 
have you, the duchess and you, done in 
your maternal council ? ’ 

“ We have prohibited the Opera from 
Mademoiselle de Chartres. We could 
not do less.” 

“ Well,” returned the Regent, “there 
is no need to seek farther ; all is here, she 
must he cured of the whim.” 

“And how will you do that, my 
son ?” 

“ I shall go this day to the Abbey of 
Chelles, I will question Louise ; if it is 
but a Ciprice, I will leave it for time to 
pass away. She has a year to make her 
vows ; I shall leave her to adopt her 
vocation and when she is about to take 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


99 


the veil, it will be her who will beg us 
the first to free her from the embai'rass- 
ment. If the thing is serious, it will be 
different. 

‘‘My God, my son.” said Madame 
rising, “ think of poor CaYichereau who 
is perhaps ignorant of the passion he 
inspires.” 

“ Ti anquillise yourself, mother,” re- 
plied the prince, laughing at the tragical 
interpretation which, with her ideas of 
beyond the Rhine, the princess palatine 
had given the words ; “ 1 shall not renew 
the lamentable tale of the lovers of the 
Paraclet; Cauchereau’s voice shall not 
lose nor gain a single note in all the ad- 
venture, and one does not treat a prin- 
cess of the blood in the same manner 
as a citizen’s wife.” 

“ But on the other hand,” said the 
princess, almost as much frightened at 
the real indulgence of the duke as at his 
apparent severity, “no weakness !” 

“ Mother,” said the Regent, “ as to 
harshness if she deceives any one, I 
would rather it be her husband than an}^ 
one else.” 

And, respectfully kissing his motlier’s 
hand, he conducted her to the door, the 
poor princess palatine being scandalized 
at that ( hangeability of manners in the 
midst of which she died without ever 
becoming habituated. Then, the prin- 
cess’ having gone, the Duke of Orleans 
reseated himself before his design hum- 
ming an air of his opera of Fantee, 
which he had composed with Lafare. 

Ill crossing the ante-chamber, Madame 
saw a_ little man lost in large travelling 
boots, with his head engulphed within 
the collar of a coat lined with fur. He 
lifted from the middle of his coat a little 
head with pointed nose, railing eyes, 
and a physiognomy uniting at once 
those of the marten and the fox. 

“ Ah ! it is you, Abbe,” said the 
princess. 

“ Myself, Your Highness, who comes 
to save France, nothing but that!” 

“ Yes,” replied T^e lady, “ I heard 
there was something coming, and that 
they give poisons for certain maladies. 
You ought to know that Dubois ; who 
are the son of an apothecary.” 

“ Madame,” responded Dubois, with 
his ordinary insolence, “perhaps I know. 


perhaps I have forgotten. As Your 
Highness knows, I quitted my father’s 
drugs when young to educate Monsieur 
your son.” 

“No matter, no matter, Dubois,” 
said the princess laughing, “ I am satis- 
fied with your zeal, and if an ambassador 
is required for China or Persia, I shall 
present you to the Regent.” 

“ And why not to the moon or to the 
sun ]” retorted Dubois ; “ you will then 
be more sure of not seeing me again.” 

And bluntly saluting Madame, afler 
his reply, without waiting until she took 
leave of him as etiquette ordered, he 
turned upon his heels and entered the 
Regent’s cabinet without announcing 
himself. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE ABBE DUBOIS. 

Every one knows the antecedents of 
the Abbe Dubois ; we shall not intrude 
upon the biography of his early years, 
as they may be found in the Memoirs of 
the times, and particularly in those of 
the inplacable Saint Simon. 

Dubois had not been calumniated ; 
that was an impossible thing ; only they 
have said of him all the bad things he 
deserved, and have not said all the good 
they could say. There was between 
him and Alber.uii, his rival, a great si- 
militude, but, it must be said, fortune 
was for Dubois, and in that long strug- 
gle with Spain, which the nature of our 
subject forces us to alone indicate, all 
the advantage was to the son of the 
apothecary against the son of the garvde- 
ner. Dubois preceded Figaro, to whom 
he perhaps served as a type ; but more 
lucky than he was, he had passed from 
the office into the saloon, and from the 
saloon into the throne-room. 

All these successive advancements 
had paid not only private but also pub- 
lic services. 

His last negociation was his master- 
piece : it was more than the ratification 
of the Treaty of Utrecht, it was a still 
more advantageous treaty for France. 
The Emperor not only renounced all his 


100 


THE ORAXGK FLUME; OR, 


rights to the Spanish crown, as Philip 
V. had renounced his claims upon the 
crown of France, but be entered^ with 
England and Holland, into the league 
formed at once against Spain in the mid- 
dle and against Sweden and Russia on 
the North. 

The division of the five or six great 
States of Europe was established by 
that treaty upon a base so equitable and 
so secure, that after a hundred and 
fifty years of wars, revolutions and con- 
vulsions, all these States, save the Em- 
pire, find themselves at this day in 
nearly the same situation as they were 
then. 

On his side, the Regent, but little 
strict by nature, loved this man who had 
made his education and his fortune. He 
appreciated in Dubois the good qualities 
that he ijad, and dared not blame him 
too severely for the vices he w^as not 
exempt from. Still there was an abyss 
between the Regent and Dubois : the 
vices and the virtues of the Regent were 
those of a great lord, the qualifications 
and the defects of Dubois were those of 
a lackey. So the Regent would say at 
each new favor he accorded him ; 

“ Dubois, Dubois, pay attention : it 
is but a suit of livery I put on your 
back.” 

Dubois who was inquieted by the gift, 
not by the manner it was made, would 
respond with that apish grimace and 
that vulgar stammer which appertained 
to him alone : 

‘‘I am your servant, my, lord; ap- 
parel me as such a one.” 

Besides, Dubois was devoted to the 
Regent. He felt that it was his hand 
alone which sustained him above the 
position he had come from, and into 
which, scorned and hated by all as he 
was, a sign of Ids master could make 
him fall back. He watched then with 
a personal interest upon the plots 
against the Regent, and more than once, 
by the aid of an under-police, often bet- 
ter served than the lieutenant-general, he 
had heard, from Madam de Tencin, in 
the highest degrees of aristocracy, and 
from Fillon, in the lowest stages of so- 
ciety, and had checked conspiracies of 
which Mesire Voyer d’Argenson had 
not heard a word. 


So, the Regent, who appreciated the 
services of all sorts w^hich Dubois had 
rendered and could still render, received 
the abbe-ambassador wiih open arms. 
When he saw him appear, he rose, and 
contrary to princes, who, usually, to 
diminish the recompense, depreciate the 
services : 

‘‘ Dubois,” said he joyously,^ ‘‘ you 
are my best Aiend, and the Treaty of 
the Quadruple Alliance shall be more 
profitable to King Louis XV., than all 
the victories of Louis XIV.” 

‘‘ Well, and good !” said Dubois, ‘‘and 
you render me justice, my lord ; but 
unfortunately, it is not so with every- 
body else.” 

“ Ah ! ah !” said the Regent, “ did 
you meet my mother? she just left 
here.” 

“ Precisely, and she was almost 
tempted to come back to you and de- 
mand, seeing the success of my em- 
bassy, you to grant me another to China 
or Persia.” 

“ What would you, my poor Abbe !” 
resumed the prince laughing ; “ my 
mother is full of prejudices, and she 
wdll never pardon your having made me 
such a scholar; but be easy, Abbe, 1 
have need of you.” 

“ And how is his Majesty ?” asked 
.Dubois, with a smile full of detestable 
hope. “ He was very malicious when I 
departed.” 

“Well, Abbe, well,” gravely replied 
the prince. “ God will preserve him, I 
hope, for the happiness of France and 
the shame of our calumniators.” 

“And my lord sees him, as usual, 
every day ?” 

“ I did yesterday and he even spoke 
of you.” 

“ Bah ! and what did you tell him ?” 

“ I said that you would probably re- 
turn assuring the tranquility of his 
reign.” 

“ And what said he to that ?” 

“What did he reply? he said, my 
dear Abbe, that he never believed abbes 
were so useful.” 

“ His Majesty is full of spirit : And 
Viileroy w^as there no doubt ?” 

“ As ever.” 

“Some fine morning, with the per- 
mission of Your Highness, I must send 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


101 


the old rogue to see the other end of 
France. He commences to annoy you, 
with his violence !” 

Leave him, Dubois, leave him ; 
everything comes in its lime.” 

Even my archbishopric 

“ By the by, what is that new folly ?” 

“ New folly, my lord ? By my 
word, there is nothing more serious.” 

‘‘ Wliat ! that letter from the King of 
England, asking me for an archbishopric 
for you ” 

' ‘‘Did not Your Highness recognise 
the style f ’ 

“ It was you who dictated it, rascal !” 

“ To Nericault Destouches, who made 
the King sign it.” 

“And the King signed one like that 
without saying anything.” 

Aye. ‘ What,’ sai i he to our poet, 

‘ would you have a Protestant prince 
make an archbishop in France? The 
Regent will read my letter, laugh, and 
do nothing.’ ‘ Yes, Sire,’ Destouches had 
replied — he has, in faith, more spirit 
than is m^t with in his pieces — ‘ the Re- 
gent will laugh, but, after having laugh- 
ed, he will do as your Majesty requests.’ ” 

“ Destouches has lied !” 

Destouches never spoke so true, my 
lord.” 

“ You, archbishop ! King George de- 
serves but a revenge, I will designate to 
him some scoundrel of your sort for 
Archbishop of York, when it is vacant.” 

“ 1 defy you to find my equal, I know 
but one man.” 

“And who is he? I am very curious 
to know him.” 

“ Oh ! it is useless : he has already a 
place, and, as his place is good, he will 
not change it for all the archbishoprics 
in the world.” 

“ Insolent.” 

“To whom is that meant, my lord?” 

“ To a knave, who would be an arch- 
bishop and who'^has not yet made his 
first communion.” 

“ Well ! I shall be all the better pre- 
pared.” 

“ But the under-deaconry, the deacon- 
ry, the priesthood ?” 

“ Bah ! we shall find some dispatcher 
of masses, some brother Jean des En- 
tomeures, wlio will give me all that in 
an hour.” 


“ I defy you to find one !” 

“ That is already done.” 

“ And who is he ?” 

“ Your first almoner, the Archbishop 
of Nantes, Tressan.” 

“ The knave has an answer for all ! 
But your marriage ?” 

“ My marriage?” 

“ Yes, Madam Dubois.” 

“ Madam Dubois ? I don’t know such 
a one.” 

“ What ! have you assassinated her?” 

“ My lord forgets that it is no more 
than three days ago since he signed the 
quarter’s pension which she takes from 
my purse.” 

‘‘ And if she opposes your archbishop- 

“ I defy her ! She has no proofs.” 

“ She may give a copy of your mar- 
riage act.” 

“ It will be a copy without an origin- 
al.” 

“ And the original ?” 

“ Here,” said Dubois, drawing from 
his portfolio a little paper which contain- 
ed a pinch of ashes. 

“ What ! miscreant ! and have you no 
fear of being sent to the galleys ?” 

“ If in heart you mean it, the moment 
is good, f jr I hear the voice of the lieu- 
tenant of police in your ante-chamber.” 

“ What does he want ?” 

“ Me.” 

“ Why ?” 

“ To reprimand me.” 

“ On what subject ?” 

“ You shall know. So, my archbish- 
opric is agreed upon.” 

“ Have you already made a choice of 
one ?” 

“Yes, 1 take Cambrai.” 

“ The plague ! you have a fine taste.” 

“ Oh, my God ! it is not for that, it is 
for the honor of succeeding Fenelon.” 

“ And you will doubtless form a new 
‘ Telemaque ?’ ” 

“ Yes, if Your Highness finds me one 
Penelope all over the kingdom.” 

“ Apropos of Penelope, you know 
that Madam de Sabran ” 

“ I know all.” 

“ Ah, Abbe, your police is then well 
made?” 

“ You shall judge.” 

Dubois extended his hand to a bell- 


102 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


cord : the bell tinkled, and an usher ap- 
peared. 

‘‘ Bid M. le lieutenant general enter, ’’ 
said Dubois. 

But, Abbe,” resumed the Regent, 
“ it seems to me that it is you who or- 
der now.” 

It is for your welfare, my lord ; 
leave me to do it.” 

Do it then,” said the Regent, ‘‘ one 
must always indulge new comers.” 

Messire Voyer d’Argenson entered ; 
he was the equal of Dubois as to uncOme- 
iiness. Only his h meliness, in him, of- 
fered an opposite type : he was stout, 
awkward, wore an immense wig, had 
great bristling brows, and never missed 
being taken for the devil by children 
who saw him for the first time. Other- 
wise, he was supple, active, able, intrigu- 
ing, and conscientiously attending his 
office w hen he was not turned from his 
duties by some gallant occupation. 

‘^M. the lieutenant general,” said Du- 
bois, wdthout even giving d’Argenson 
time to finish his bow, ‘‘ here is my lord 
who has no secrets from me, and who 
sought you for you to say under what 
costume he left here last evening, in 
whose house he passed the night, and 
what occured when he left that house. If 
I had not this very instant arrived from 
London, I should not make those ques- 
tions, but you will comprehend that, as 
1 posted along the Calais road, I can 
know nothing.” 

But,” replied d’Argenson, presuming 
that the questions hid some plot, “ did 
anything extraordinary happen last 
night ? As for me, I avow that I have 
received no report. At all events, 1 
hope no accident befell my lord.” 

‘‘ Oh, my God ! no, not one. Only 
my lord, who l^lt here at eight o’clock 
last night, to sup with Madam deSabran, 
was almost abducted on leaving her 
house.” 

“ Abducted !” cried d’Argenson, be- 
coming pale, while the Regent uttered 
an exclamation of astonishment. “ Ab- 
ducted, and by w'horn ?” 

“ Ah !” said Dubois, “ what you are 
ignorant of is wdiat you w'ould have 
known, if you, M. le lieutenant general, 
instead of making the rounds that night, 
you had not passed your time at the 


Convent of the Magdalena at Trais nel.” 

‘‘What! d’Argenson,” said the Regent 
bursting into laughter, “ you, a grave 
magistrate, you give such examples! 
Ah ! be easy, I shall receive you well if 
you bring me, as you have already done 
in the day of the late King, a journal of 
my acts and deeds at the end of the 
year.” 

“ My lord,” stammered the lieuten- 
ant general, “ I hope that Your Highness 
does not believe (me word said by M. 
I’Abbe Dubois.” 

“How now" I instead of humbling 
yourself for your ignorance you would 
tell me a falsehood 1 My lord, I will 
conduct you to d’Argenson’s seraglio ; 
an abbess of twenty-six years, and 
novices of fifteen ; a boudoir of ravish- 
ing Indian stuff, and cells hung with cali- 
co ! Oh ! M. le lieutenant general of 
police does these things well.” 

The Regent held his sides vvith laugh- 
ter at d’Argenson’s comical fiice. 

“ But,” said the lieutepant of police, 
attempting to lead back the conversation 
to that one of the two subjects, though 
both w'ere humiliating to him, w’hich 
w"as still the least disagreeable, “ there 
is no great merit in you, M. I’Abbe, 
knowing the details of an event which 
Monseigneur doubtless related to you.” 

“ Upon my honor, d’Argenson,” cried 
the Regent, “ I did not say a word to 
him.” 

“ Come, come, M. le lieutenant. Was 
it my lord also who told me the history 
of that novice of the faubourg Saint 
Marceau, whom you have carried over 
the walls of her convent? Was it also 
my lord who spqke of that house you 
had built under a false name, the w"alls 
of w hich constituted a partitioli of that 
of the Magdalena Convent, into which 
you can enter at any time, by a door 
hidden in a wardrobe, which leads into 
the vestry of the Chapel of the blessed 
Saint Mark, your patron? Was it 
again my lord who said that you passed 
the evening scratching the soles of their 
feet, and reading the petitions which the 
nuns had received in the day ? But no, 
all that, my dear lieutenant, is the in- 
fancy of the art, and he that knows but 
that, I think, is not worthy of unloosing 
the latchets of your shoes.” 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


108 


“Listen then, M. I’Abbe,’^ replied tlie 
lieutenant of police becoming serious, 
“ if all you have said of my lord is true, 
the affair is grave, and I am wrong not 
'to know it when another does : but we 
must not lose time, we will know the 
criminals, and we will punish them as 
they deserve.’’ 

“But,” said the Regent, “ too much 
importance must not be attached to it : 
they were doubtless some drunken of- 
ficers who believed they were playing 
tricks upon one of their comrades.” 

“It is a conspiracy, my lord,” re- 
sumed Dubois, “ and in which is con- 
cerned the Spanish Ambassador, who 
passes by the Arsenal to reach the 
Palais Royal.” 

“ Again, Dubois 

“ Always, my lord.” 

“ And you, d’Argenson, what is your 
opinion upon that 

“That your e lemies are capable of 
it all, my lord : but w'e shall foil their 
plots, I give you my word.” 

At this moment the door opened, and 
the usher in waiting announced His 
Highness the Duke du Maine who came 
for the council, and who, in his position 
as prince of the blood, had the priv- 
ilege of never waiting. He advanced 
with timid and uneasy air natural to 
him, throwing an oblique glance upon 
those he was before, as if to penetrate 
the thing which occupied their minds at 
the moment of his arrival. The Regent 
comprehended his thought. 

“ Be welcome, cousin,” said he, — 
“ stay, here are two subjects whom you 
know, and who assured me this instant 
that you are conspiring against me.” 

The Duke du Maine became pale as 
death, and, feeling that his legs failed 
him, leaned upon the cane in the form 
of a crutch w^hich he habitually carried. 

“ And I hope, my lord,” replied he in 
a voice to which he vainly tried to bring 
firmness, “ that you attach no faith to 
such a calumny T’ 

“ Oh, no,” responded the Regent 
carelessly. “But what would you? 
These two obstinate persons pretend 
that they will catch you some day in 
the very act. I know nothing : but as 
I like to play fair, at all events I warn 
you. Place yourself on gjard against 


them for they are cunning blades, I 
warra t you.” 

The Duke du Maine was opening his 
mouth to reply with some excuse, when 
the door opened again, and the usher 
announced successively M. le Duke de 
Bourbon, Prince Conti, M. le Duke de 
Saint Simon, M. le Duke de Guiche, 
Captain of the Guards, M. le Duke de 
Noailles, President of the Council of 
Finances, M. le Duke d’Antin, Superin- 
tendant of the Arsenal, the Marshal 
d’Hexelles, President of Foreign Af- 
fairs, the Archbishop of Troyes, the 
Marquis de Lavilliere, the Marquis 
d’Efiiat, the Duke de Laforce, the Mar- 
quis de Torcy, and Marshals Villeroy, 
d’Estrees, Villars and Bezons. 

As these noble personages were con- 
voked to examine the Treaty of the 
Quadruple Alliance, brought from Lon- 
don by Dubois, and as the Treaty of the 
'Quadruple Alliance figures but second- 
arily in the history we have engaged to 
relate, our readers will find it right for 
us to quit the sumptuous cabinet of the 
Palais Royal to lead them back to the 
humble attic of the rue du Temps- 
perdu. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE CONSPIRACY IS RENEWED. 

D’Harmental, after having deposited 
his felt hat and his cloak- upon a chair, 
after having laid his pistol upon a table 
and glided his sword under his pillow 
had thrown himself, all attired upon his 
bed, and, such is the powef* of a vigor- 
ous constitution, that, more lucky than 
Damocles, he was sleeping, though, 
like Damocles, a sword was suspended 
above his head by a thread. 

When he awoke, it was broad day- 
light, and, as on the previous evening he 
had forgotten to close the shutters, the 
first thing which he saw was a sunbeam 
which played joyously through hi& 
chamber, tracing from window to door 
a brilliant line oj^ light in which danced 
myriads of atoms. D’Harmental be- 
lieved that it was a dream to awake in 
his neat little chamber, >Yhile, in all 


104 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


probability, he might have been at the 
same hour in some dark and gloomy 
prison. For an instant he doubted the 
reality, recalling all his thoughts upon 
what had happened, but all were here, 
the scarlet ribbon, the hat and mantle 
upon the chair, the pistols on the table, 
and the sword under the pillow ; and 
himself, d’Harmental, as a last proof, in 
case all the others were not sufficient, 
arrayed in his costume of the night 
which he had not taken off for fear that 
he might be awakened in the middle of 
the night by some unwelcome visitor. 

D’Harmental leaped from his bed ; 
his first look was for his neighbor’s 
window, it was already open and he saw 
Bathilde moving about in her chamber. 
His second was in the glass, and his 
glass said that the conspiracy had done 
wonders. Indeed, his countenance was 
more pale than usual, consequently 
more interesting ; his eyes, a little fever- 
ish, were more expressive"; so that it 
was evident that when he would give a 
touch to his hair and replace his rumpled 
cravat by another, he would incontest- 
ibly become for Bathilde, seeing what 
she had received the day before, a most 
interesting personage. D’Harmental did 
not say this out loud, nor did he even 
say it low, but the instinct which urges 
our poor souls to their fate whispered 
these thoughts to his mind, indistinct, 
vague, incomplete, it is true, but still 
precise enough for him to take to his 
dressing with the intention of conform- 
ing his dress with the appearance of his 
face, that is to say that a costume en- 
tirely black succeeded his mulberry suit, 
that his disarranged hair was renewed 
with a charming negligence and that his 
waistcoat was opened two buttons the 
more to make room for his shirt-collar, 
which fell upon his breast with a coquet- 
ish freedom. 

All this w;is made without intention 
and with the most careless and unmind- 
ful air in the word, for d’Harmental, 
brave as he was, could not forget that 
he might be arrested at one moment or 
another ; but it was all done by instinct, 
^so that when the chevali^ came from the 
little chamber which served him as the 
dressing-room and threw a glance upon 
his mirror, he smiled at himself with a 


melancholy which doubled the charm, 
already so real, of his physiognomy. 
He instantly went to the window and 
threw it up. 

Perhaps Bathilde had laid her plans 
for the moment when she should again 
see her neighbor ; perhaps she. had ar- 
langed a fine defence which consisted in 
not looking in that direction, or in 
closing her window after a simple rever- 
ence ; but at the sound of her neighbor’s 
window opening, all was forgotten, she 
bounded to the window crying : 

“ Ah ! you here ! my God, Monsieur, 
what have you done of evil !” 

This exclamation was ten times more 
than d’Harmental had hoped. So, if he 
had prepared on his side some eloquent 
phrases, as was probable, these phrases 
escaped him, and clasping his hands : 

Bathilde ! Bathilde !” cried he. 

you are as good as you are fair.” 

‘‘ Why good demanded Bathilde 

Have you not told me that if I ani an 
orphan you are without parents? Have 
you not said that I am your sister, and 
you my brother ?” 

And then, Bathilde, you have pray- 
ed for me ?” 

All the night,” replied the young 
girl blushing. 

And 1 thanked chance for having 
saved me while I owe it all to the 
prayers of an angel !” 

“ The danger is passed then ?” cried 
Bathilde quickly. 

Last night was sad and gloomy,” 
replied d’Harmental. This morning, 
I was awoke by a sunbeam ; but there 
must have beeij a cloud for it to dis- 
perse. It is thus with the danger which 
1 run : it has passed aw'ay to make room 
for a very great pleasure, Bathilde, that 
of being c. rtain that you have thought 
of me ; but it may return. And, hold,” 
resumed he, hearing some person’s foot- 
steps which mounted the stairs, this is 
it perhaps which comes to knock at my 
door.” 

At this moment, in fact, three blows 
were heard at the chevalier’s door. 

“ Who is there?” demand d’Harmen- 
tal, from the window and in a voice in 
to whicli all his firmness could not pre- 
vent a little emotion piercing. 

“ Friend !” was the reply. 


THE BRIDE OP THE B \STILE. 


105 


“Well?” demanded Bathilde anx- 
iously. 

“ Well ! thanks to you, God contin- 
ues to protect me. He who knocks is a 
friend. A^ain thanks, Bathilde !” 

And the Chevalier closed his window, 
sending a salute to the young girl which 
much resembled a kiss. 

Then he went to open the door to the 
Abbe Brigand, who, becoming impatient, 
had rapped a second time. 

“ Well !” said the abbe, in whose fea- 
tures it was impossible to read the least 
alteration, “ what has happened, my 
dear pupil, that we fasten ourselves with 
locks and bolts? Have we a foretaste 
of the Bastile ?” 

“ Softly, Abbe !” replied d’Harmen- 
tal, with so joyous a face and so playful 
a voice, I hat one would have said that 
be contested impassability with Bri- 
gand, “ none of such jests, I pray you, 
they may carry misfortune.” 

“ But look around, look,” said Bri- 
gand ; “ one could but say he was with 
a conspirator. Pistols on the table, a 
sword under the pillow, and upon that 
chair a hat and a cloak. Ah ! my dear 
pupil, you are troubled, it seems to me! 
Go, put things in their place, and let 
nothing be left that I myself can per- 
ceive, when I make my paternal visit, 
what had happened when I was not 
nere.” 

D’Harrnental obeyed while admiring 
the phlegm of the man of the church, 
to whose coolness, he, a man of the 
sword, had great pains to attain. 

“ Well, well I” said Brigand following 
him with his eyes. “ Ah ! and this 
shoulder-knot which you have forgotten, 
and which was never made for you, for, 
the devil fly away with me 1 it dates from 
the epoch when you wore jackets 1 * Go, 
go, arrange it also ; who, knows, you may 
have need.” 

“Eh! what to do, Abbe?” demanded 
d’Harmental laughing, “ to go for the 
Regent?” 

“ Eh ! my God, no, but to make a 
signal to some brave man who passes. 
Come, see to that.” 

“ My dear Abbe,” said d’Harmental, 
“ if you are not the devil in person, you 
are at least one of his most intimate ac- 
quaintances.” 


“ E'l, no ! God forbid, no ! I am a 
poor man who sees his own little road, 
and who follows it, looking neither right 
nor left, above nor below, that is all. 
It is as that window — what the deuce ! 
here is a ray of the Spring, the fi?st 
which comes humbly to the window, 
and you do not open it ! They will say 
you have a dread of being seen, on hon- 
or ! Ah ! pardon me, I did not know 
that when your window is open it makes 
another close.” 

“ My dear tutor, you are full of spir- 
it,” replied d’Harmental, “ but of a 
terrible indiscretion ! If you were a 
musketeer instead of being an abbe, I 
should seek a quarrel with you.” 

“ A quarrel ? and why so ? because I 
wish to smooth the road to fortune, glory 
and love perhaps. Ah ! that will be a 
monstrous ingratitude !” 

“ Well, no ! Let us be friends, Abbe,” 
said d’Harmental, extending his hand. 
“ So, I should like to have some news.” 

“ Of what ?’' 

“ But what do I know ? Of the rue 
des Bons-Enfaiits, that there was a great 
noise ; of the Arsenal, 1 think that the 
Madam du Maine gave a soiree ; and 
even of the Regent, 1 think from a dream 
1 had that he entered the Palais Royal 
very late and much agitated.” 

“ Well ! all has gone wonderful ; the 
noise in the rue des Bons-Enfants was 
calmed this morning. Madam du 
Maine had important affairs which re- 
tained her far from the Arsenal, where 
she has at the bottom of her heart, I am 
sure, scorn for those who went there. 
Finally the Regent as usual dreamed 
last night that he was King of France, 
and has forgot that he just escaped be- 
ing prisoner to the King of Spain. Now 
it is to be recommenced.” 

“ Pardon, Abbe,” said d’Harmental ; 
“but, with. your permission, it is the 
turn of others. I shall not be sorry to 
repose a little.” 

“ The deuce ! That agrees but poorly 
with the news 1 bear.” 

“ And what news is that ?” 

“ That it was decided upon for you to 
depart poste-haste for Bretagne.” 

“ For Bretagne, I ? And what would 
you have me do tliere.” 

“ You shall see when you are there.” 


106 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


“ And if it does not please me to go 1” 

“ You will reflect, and you will go 
all the same.” 

And what will I reflect 

‘‘You will reflect that it will he mad- 
ness to interrupt an enterprise which 
touches its end, a love wdiich is still at 
its commencement, and to abandon the 
interests of a princess of the blood, to 
gain the good graces of a grisette.” 

“ Abbe,” said d’Harmental. 

“ Oh ! we are not angry, my dear 
Chevalier,” returned Brigaud, “ but let 
us reason. You have engaged volun- 
tarily in an affair which we pursue, and 
you have promised to aid us with your 
best. The devjl take me ! my dear 
pupil, your ideas must be ranked more 
together, or do not meddle wflth con- 
spiracies.” 

“ That is it justly,” replied d’Harmen- 
tal, “ this time I wish, before undertak- 
ing anything new, to know what 1 am to 
undertake. 1 have offered my arm, it is 
true ; but, before striking, the arm 
must know wdiat the head has de- 
cided upon. I wn'sh my liberty, 1 wdsh 
my life, something w'hich is yet more 
, precious. I would risk all that in my 
fashion, with eyes open, not closed. Say 
first what I am to do in Bretagne, and 
w^ell ! perhaps I wdll go.” 

“ Your orders are for you to go to 
Rennes. There, you unseal your letter 
and you wdll find your instructions.” 

“ My orders ! my instructions !” 

“ Are they not the terms a general 
uses to his officers, and men of w^ar, are 
not in the habit of discussing the com- 
mands they receive, are they ?” 

“No not when they are in service; 
but I am not.” 

“It is true! I had forgotten to say 
that you w^ere re-enrolled.” 

“ H” 

“ Yes, you. I have your commission 
in my pocket. Stay.” 

And Brigaud drew a parchment from 
his- pocket, and presented it folded to the 
chevalier, who slowly unrolled it while 
questioning the abbe with a look. 

“ A commission 1” cried the chevalier ; 
“ a colonel’s commission in one of the 
four regiments of carabineers ! And 
from w' lienee comes this commission ?” 

“ Look at the signature, pardieu !” 


“ Louis Augustus, M. le Duke du 
Maine !” 

“Well, what is there astonishing in 
that ? In his position has he not the ap- 
pointments of twelve regiments 1 He 
has given you one, that is all, to replace 
the one taken away, and, as your gener- 
al, he sends you on a mission. Is it the 
habit of men of war to refuse in such 
cases the honor which their chief confers 
upon them ? I, being a man of the 
Church, do not know.” 

“No, my dear Abbe, no!” cried d’- 
Harmental, “ and on the contrary it is 
the duty of all officers of the King to 
obey their commander.” 

“ Without counting,” added the abbe, 
negligently, “ that if the conspiracy is 
checked, you have but obeyed the orders 
which were given you, and that you can 
throw upon another the responsibility 
of your actions.” 

“ Abbe !” cried d’Harmental a second 
time. 

“ Dame ! are you not going ?” 

“ Yes, my dear Abbe, yes Excuse 

me ; but stay, there are moments when 
I am half mad. Give me the orders of 
M. du Maine, or rather of Madam. 
Will there not be time before my de- 
parture to fall at her feet, to kiss the 
hem of her robe, to say that I would 
die for one word from her !” 

“ Come, come, jmu are falling into 
the opposite exaggeration ! But no, you 
must not die, you must live ; live to 
triumph over our enemies, and to wear 
that fine uniform with which you will 
turn all the women’s heads.” 

“ Oh ! my dear Brigaud, there is but 
one w^hom I wish to please.” 

“ Well, you please her first and the 
others afterwards.” 

“ And when am I to go V' 

“ This very instant.” 

“ You will give me half-an-hour 

“ Not a second !” 

“ But I have had no breakfast.” 

“ You will breakfast with me.” 

“ I have here but two or three thou- 
sand fi ancs, and that is not enough.” 

“You will find a year’s pay in 3 ^our 
coach.” 

“ Clothes ?” 

“ Your trunks are full. Have I not 
your measure, and do you dislike my 
tailor r 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


107 


“ Not in the least, Abbe. When shall 
I return 

“ This day six weeks, day for day, 
Madam le Duchess du Maine expects 
you at Sceaux.” 

But at least, Abbe, you will permit 
me to write two^lines 

“ Tw o lines, be it ! 1 do not wish to 
be too exacting.^^ 

The chevtilier seated himself at a table 
and wrote : 

“ Dear Batiiilde : 

‘‘ To-day it is more than a danger 
which menaces me, it is a misfortune 
w'hich has overtaken me. I am forced 
to go this instant without seeing you, 
without bidding you farewell. I shall 
be six weeks absent. In Heaven’s name, 
Bathilde, do not forget one who never 
passes an hour without thinking of you. 

‘‘ Raoul.” 

This letter completed, folded and seal- 
ed, the chevalier rose and went to the 
window : but, as we have seen, that of 
his neighbor had been closed on the 
Abbe Brigand’s coming. There was then 
no means of passing the note to Bathilde. 
D’Harmental let a gesture of impatience 
escape him. At this moment something 
scratched gently at fhe door : the abbe 
opened it, and Mirza, who, guided by 
her instinct and her gluttony, had found 
the chamber of the throw^er of sugar, 
appeared upon the sill and entered with 
many demonstrations of joy. 

“Well,” said Brigand, “who will 
again sao that there is not a good God 
for lovers ! You seek a messenger and 
one arrives.” 

“ Abbe, Abbe,” said d’Harmental 
shaking his head, “ bewfh’e of penetrat- 
ing into my secrets more than they in- 
vite !” 

“ My dear Chevalier,” replied Bri- 
gand, “ a confessor is an abyss.” 

“ So, not a word comes from your 
mouth T’ 

“ Upon honor, Chevalier.” 

And d’Harmental attached the letter 
to Mirza’s neck, gave her a lump of su- 
ger as recompense for the mission she 
was to accomplish, and, half sad at los- 
ing sight for six weeks of his pretty 
neighbor, half gay at having again found 
his fine uniform for ever, he took all the 


money he had, took his pistols, girded 
on his sw'ord, placed his hat upon his 
head, threw his mantle on his shoulders, 
and followed the Abbe Brigaud. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

THE ORDER OF THE BEE. 

On the day and at the said time, that 
is to say six weeks after his departure 
from the capital, and at four o’clock of 
the afternoon, d’Harmental, returning 
from Br^^tagne, entered at the full gal- 
lop of his two post horses, into the court- 
yard of the palace of Sceaux. 

Valets in livery waited at the stair- 
case, and everything denoted preparation 
for a festival. D’Harmental passed 
through the double row, into the vesti- 
bule and found himself within a great 
hall where were conversing in groups, 
awaiting the mistress of the mansion, 
twenty persons, the majority of whom 
were of his acquaintance. There were 
among others, Count Laval, the Marquis 
de Pompadour, the poet Saint Genest, 
the old Abbe de Chaulieu, Saint Aulaire, 
Madarnes de Rohan, de Croissy, de Char- 
rost and de Brissac. 

D’Harmental went straight to the 
Marquis de Pompadour, the one of all 
that noble and intelligent society with 
whom he was acquainted. The two shook 
hands ; then d’Harmental taking Pompa- 
dour a little aside, said : 

“ My dear Marquis, can you inform 
me how it is that when 1 believed 1 came 
here for a dull and wearisome cabal, 1 
find myself thrown amid festivity ?” 

“ 111 faith, I know nothing, my dear 
Chevalier,” replied Pompadour ; “ and 
you see me as much astonished as you 
for I have just come from Normandy.” 

“ Ah ! you have also arrived 

“ At this instant. So I asked the same 
question of Laval. But he had arrived 
trorn Switzerland, and know's no more 
than me.” 

At this moment the Baron de Valef 
w^as announced. 

“ Ah ! pardieu ! here is our man,” 
continued Pompadour; “Valef is one 
of the most intimate frieqds of the duch- 
ess, and he will tell us.” 


108 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


D’Harmental and Pompadour went 
towards Valef who, recognizing them, 
came straight to them. D^Harmental 
and Valef had not seen each other since 
the day of the duel ,by which we open- 
ed this history, so they shook hands 
w^armly. Then after the first compli- 
ments which were exchanged : 

‘‘ My dear Valef,” demanded d’Har- 
mental, ‘‘can you say what is the design 
of this great assemblage 

“ Ma foi ! my dear Chevalier, I do 
not know,” said Valef, “ I come from 
Madrid.” 

“ How now ! every one is coming 
here !” said Pompadour laughing ; “ ah ! 
here is Malezieux. I hope that he came 
by Dombes or Chatenay and as in all 
likelihood he passed by Madam du 
Maine’s chamber, we shall at least have 
the news.” 

At these words. Pompadour made a 
sign to Malezieux, but the worthy chan- 
cellor was too gallant not to first acquit 
himself of his duties to the ladies ; he 
went ta salute Madames de Rohan, de 
Croissy, de Charrost and de Brissac ; 
then he proceeded towards the group 
formed by Pompadour, d’Harmental and 
Valef. 

“ My dear Malezieux,” said Pompa- 
dour, “ we awaited you with great im- 
patience ; we have come from the four 
quarters of the globe; Valef from the 
Middle, d’Harmental from the West, 
Laval from the East, I from the North, 
and you I know not where ; so, we con- 
fess we are very curious to know what 
we are to do at Sceaux.” 

“ You have come to assist at a great 
solemnity,” responded Talezieux ; you 
are to assist in the reception of a new 
chevalier of the Order of the Bee.” 

“ Plague 1” said d’Harmental, piqued 
that they had not even allowed him to 
pass through the rue du Temps-perdu 
before coming to Sceaux ; “ 1 compre- 
hend now why Madam du Maine recom- 
mended for all of us to be so punctual 
to the meeting ; and as for me, 1 am 
thankful to Her Highness.” 

“ First, young man,” interrupted 
Malezieux, “ there is neither a Madam 
du Maine nor a Highness, she is here 
the fairy Ludovise, the Queen of the 
Bees, whom every one blindly obeys. 


“ But our Queen is all-wise as well as all- 
powerful. And when you know who is 
the Chevalier of the Bee w^e are to re- 
ceive, perhaps you will not much regret 
the diligence you have made.” 

“ And who do we receive ?” demanded 
Valef, who having arrived from a dis- 
tance was the most anxious pressed to 
know. 

“ His Excellence, Prince Cellamare.” 

“ Ah, ah ! that is another thing,”^aid 
Pompadour, “ and I begin to under- 
stand.” 

“ And I also,” said Valef. 

“ And I also,” said d’Harmental. 

“ Very well, very well,” replied Male- 
zieux smiling. “ And before the end of 
the night you will understand still bet- 
ter.” 

With these words Malezieux advanced 
towards a little man with unmeaning 
countenance, long hair and envious looks, 
who appeared embarrassed at finding 
himself in such noble company, and who 
was seen by d’Harmental for the first 
time. He instantly asked Pompadour 
who was this little man. Pompadour 
answered that it was Sagrange Chancel 
the poet. 

The two young persons regarded this 
new comer an instant with a curiosity 
mixed with disgust, then turning to an- 
other side and leaving Pompadour ad- 
vancing to Cordinal Polignac, who en- 
tered that moment, they went to con- 
verse in the embrasure of a window 
upon the reception of the new Chevalier 
of the Bee. 

The Order of the Bee had been form- 
ed by Madam la Duchess du Maine per- 
tinently to that device borrowed from 
the Aminte of Tasso, and which she had 
taken upon the occasion of her marriage : 
“ Piccola sima fa puo graoile fereteP 

This order, like all others had its de- 
corations, its officers, its grand master ; 
its decorations was a medal representing 
a hive on one side and on the other the 
Queen of the Bees ; this medal was sus- 
pended from the button-hole by a citron- 
colored ribbon, and was worn by each 
chevalier when he came to Sceaux. 

Its officers were Malezieux, Saint An- 
laire, the Abbe de Chaulieu and Saint 
Genest ; its grand master was Madam 
du Maine, it was composed of thirty- 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


109 


nine members and could not exceed that 
number j the death of M. de Nevers 
had reduced the ranks, and as Malezieux 
had told d’Harmental the vacancy was 
to be filled by the nomination of Prince 
Cellamare. . 

The fact was that Madam du Maine 
had found it safer to cover this political 
union by a frivolous pretext, certain as 
she was that a fete in the gardens of 
Sceaux would be less suspicious to Du- 
bois and Voyer d’Argepson than a cabal 
at the Arsenal. 

So, as one may see, nothing was for- 
gotten to render the Order of the Bee in 
all its splendor, and to resuscitate in all 
their former magnificence those famous 
nuits blcLTiches which had mocked at 
Louis XIV. 

At precisely four o’clock, the moment 
fixed upon for the ceremony, the double 
door of the hall opened, and they 
coidd perceive, witliin a corridor hung 
with carnation silk bespangled with 
silver bees, upon a throne raised three 
steps, the fairy Ludovise, to whom the 
smallness of her form and the delicacy 
of her features, more than the golden 
wand which she held in her hand, gave 
the appearance of the aerial being whose 
name she had taken. She made a ges- 
ture of the hand. 

All her court, passing from the hall 
into the gallery, ranged themselves in a 
half circle around her throne, upon the 
steps of which the great dignitaries of 
the order were placed. When every one 
was in his place, a side door opened, and 
Bressac, the ensign of the Duke du 
Maine’s guards, bearing the costume of 
herald, that is a cherry-colored robe 
embroidered with silver bees and upon 
his head having a hat in the form of a 
hive, entered and announced in a loud 

tone: ^ „ 

“ His Excellency Prince Cellamare.’ 

The prince entered, advanced with a 
slow step to the Queen of the Bees, bent 
his knee upon the first step of her 
throne. 

We have no need to tire our readers 
with a detail of the ceremonies of in- 
stallation, which are all gravely describ- 
ed in the “Divertisements of Sceaux.” 

The ceremonies concluded by the 
prince bending one knee, when the fairy 


Ludovise passed the ribbon, sustaining a 
medal, over his neck. 

And every voice chanted : 

Viva, Sempra, viva, et in onore cresca 
II novo Ceavaliero della Mosca.” 

As this general sound ceased, a second 
side door opened and disclosed a mag- 
nificent supper served in a splendidly 
illuminated hall. 

The newly created Chevalier of the 
Bee then offered his hand to the fairy 
Ludovise, and they proceeded to the 
dining-room followed by the others. 
The places were taken at the table in the 
order which had been designated in ad- 
vance by name. 

At the conclusion of the banquet 
Madam, du Maine rose ; all the others 
followed her example and passed with 
her into the garden. D’Harmental 
taking Valefs arm descended with him. 


CHAPTEPw XXVI. 

THE QUEEN OF THE GREENLANDERS. 

In the gardens new surprises awaited 
the guests. These vast gardens, de- 
signed by Le Notre for Colbert, and 
which Colbert had sold to the Duke du 
Maine, had become in the hands of the 
duchess a veritable fairy abode; the 
French gardens with their green hedges, 
their long alleys of linden trees, their 
yew trees shaped in spiral andpyramid- 
ical forms, were much better adapted 
than .the English gardens with their mas- 
sive trees, tortuous alleys, and unpic- 
turesque horizons for those mythologi- 
cal fetes which were the fashion under 
the great King. Those of Sceaux espe- 
cially, bounded only by a vast sheet of 
water, in the middle of which rose the 
Pavillion of Aurora, so called because 
it was from that pavillion there ordinar- 
ily came the signal that night was finish- 
ed and that it was time to retire, had, 
with their games of tennis and football, 
an aspect of royal grandeur. 

So every one remained wonderstruck 
when they descended the staircase and 
saw all the long alleys, all the fine trees. 


110 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


all the graceful shrubs, lit up by clusters 
of illuminations which changed that ob- 
scure night into a most splendid day. 
At the same time exquisite music was 
heard without any one being able to see 
or know from whence it came ; then by 
the sound of this music some personages 
were to be discovered advancing by the 
widest alley, these personages to the 
number of seven, were entirely covered 
with furs which concealed their forms, 
and had hairy bonnets which hid their 
features; they walked slowly, leading in 
the midst of them a sledge drawn by 
tw^o reindeers, indicating a polar deputa- 
tion. Indeed this was an embassy which 
the people of Greenland addressed to the 
fairy Ludovise ; this embassy w^as con- 
ducted by a chief attired in a robe of 
marten furs and having on his head a 
fox skin on which had been left three 
tails which hung symmetrically one on 
each shoulder and the other behind. 
When in lace of Madam du Maine, the 
chief bowed, and said : 

“ Madam, the Greenlanders having 
deliberated in a general assembly of the 
nation upon sending one of the most im- 
portant of them to Your Serene High- 
ness, 1 had the honor of being chosen to 
olfer you, on their part, the sovereignty 
of their states.” 

The allusion was so visible, and yet, 
by the manner in which it was made, 
otiercd so little danger, that a murmur 
of approbation ran through the specta- 
tors and that a most gracious smile pass- 
ed lightly over the lips of the fairy Lu- 
dovise; so the ambassador, visibly en- 
couraged by the welcome the commence- 
ment of his discourse had received, in- 
stantly resumed : 

‘‘Fame, who announces to us the rar- 
est of wonders, has instructed us, in the 
midst of our snows and ice, in our little 
corner of the globe, of che charms, vir- 
tues and inclinations of your most se- 
rene Highness : we know that she abhors 
the sun.” 

This new allusion was seized with as 
ardor and eagerness as the first ; indeed 
the sun was the Regent’s device and', as 
we have said. Madam du Maine was 
well known for her predeliction for the 
night. 

“ Madam,” continued the ambassa- 


dor, “seeing our geographical position, 
God, in his bounty, has given us six 
months of night and six of twilight, and 
wc come to propose your flight with us 
from the sun which you hate ; and, in 
recompense for that you abandon here, 
we will offer you th% rank of Queen of 
Greenland, certain as we are that your 
presence will make our arid country 
bloom, that the wisdom of your laws 
will subdue our unruly spirits, and that, 
by the gentleness of your reign, W’e shall 
never return to a liberty less agreeable 
than your royal government.” 

“ But,” said Madam du Maine, “ it 
seems to me that the kingdom you offer 
me is very far off, and, I confess, I dread 
long journeys.” 

“We foresaw your reply. Madam,” 
returned the ambassador, “ and, by the 
enchantments of a powerful magician, 
from fear that, more indolent than 
Mahomet, you would not go to the 
mountain, we have arranged it so that 
the the mountain comes to you. Ho ! 
genie of the pole,” continued the leader 
of the embassy, describing cabalistic 
circles in the air with his w^and, “ dis- 
cover to all eyes the palace of your new 
sovereign.” 

At this moment music was again 
heard, and the veil which covered the 
Pavillion of Aurora was taken aw^ay as 
it by magic, the vast sheet of water, 
until then sombre like a tarnished mir- 
ror, reflecting a light so skilfully dis- 
posed as to lead one to take it for that 
of the moon. By this light was defined, 
upon an island of ice and at the foot of 
a snowy and transparent peak, the pal- 
ace of the Queen of Greenland, to 
which was a bridge so fragile as to ap- 
pear fashioned of a floating cloud. 

Amidst general acclamation, the am- 
bassador took from the hands of one of 
his retinue a crown and placed it on the 
head of the duchess, and which the 
duchess secured upon her brow with 
a gesture as haughty as if it were really 
a crown which she had received ; then, 
stepping into the sledge, she prpceeded 
tovyards the marine palace, and, while 
the guards kept the crowd from follow- 
ing. her into her new domain, she crossed 
the bridge and entered with the seven 
ambassadors within a door like the 


THE BRIDE OF THE B^STILE. 


Ill 


opening of a cave. At the same instant 
the bridge disappeared, as if, by an al- 
lusion no less visible than the others, 
the skilful machinist would separate the 
past from the future, and a burst of 
fireworks expressed the joy which the 
Greenlanders experienced at the sight of 
their new queen. 

During this time. Madam du Maine 
was intioduced by an usher into the 
most isolated part of her new palace, 
and, the seven ambassadors having 
doffed their bonnets and robes, she 
found herself the centre of a group com- 
posed of Prince Cellamare, Cardinal 
Polignac, the Marquis de Pompadour, 
Count Laval, the Baron de Valef, the 
Chevalier d^Harmental and Malezieux. 

As for the usher who, after having 
carefully closed all the doors, came to 
mingle familiarly with this noble as- 
semblage, he was no other than our old 
friend the Abbe Brigand. 

As one sees things at last appeared 
under their true forms, and the festival, 
as the ambassadors had done, threw off 
its mask and frankly turned to con- 
spiracy. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Madam la Duchess 
du Maine with her habitual vivacity, 

we have not an instant to lose, and too 
long an absence may awaken suspicions; 
let each man hasten to relate what he 
has done, and let us finally know where 
we are.” 

Pardon, Madam,” said the prince, 
^‘but you have spoken of a man whom 
I do not see here, and whom I shall be 
very sorry not to count him in our 
ranks,” 

“ The Duke de R chelieu, you would 
say, would you not?” returned Madam 
du Maine; Well, yes, it is true that 
he engnged to come, but he has been re- 
tained by some adventure, by some ap- 
pointment : we must let him pass.” 

‘‘Yes, doubtless, Madame,” rejoined 
the prince, “ yes, if he does not come, 
we must let him pass ; but 1 shall not 
conceal that 1 see his absence with great 
regret. The regiment he commands is 
at Bayonne, and, m that place, which 
])uts him in our reach, he would be most 
useful. I pray you. Madam, to give the 
order that if he comes he shall be im- 
mediately admitted.” 


“ Abbe,” said Madam du Maine turn- 
ing to Brigand, “you have heard, in- 
form Avranches.” 

Brigaud went out to execute the 
order. 

“ Pardon, M. le Chancellor,” said 
d’Harmental to Malezieux, “ it seems to 
me that six weeks ago M. de Richelieu 
positively refused to become our 
friend.” 

“Yes,” replied Malezieux, “for he 
knew that he was designed to bear the 
cordon bleu to the Prince of the Astur- 
ias, and he would not disagree with the 
Regent when, in return for that mission, 
he would probably receive the Toison- 
d-’or (Golden Fleece). But since that 
time, the Regent changed his mind ; 
and as he was involved with Spain, he 
resolved to adjourn the sending of the 
order ; so that M. de Richelieu, seeing 
his Toisou put off till the Greek kalen- 
des, has rallied to us.” 

“The order of Your Highness is 
transmitted. Madam,” said Brigaud en- 
tering : “ and if M. le Duke de Riche- 
lieu appears at Sceaux, he will be im- 
mediately conducted here.” 

“ That is well,” said the. duchess ; 
“ now seat yourselves at this table and 
proceed. Laval, commence.” 

“ I, Madam,” said Laval, “ I have, as 
you know, been in Switzerland, where 
with the name and money of the King 
of Spain, 1 have raised a regiment. 
This regiment is ready to enter Prance 
when tile moment comes, awaiting which 
it is arming and equipping and waits 
but for the order to march.” 

“Well, my dear Count, well I” said 
the duchess ; “ and if you do not look 
upon it as below a Montmorency to be 
colonel of a regiment, while waiting 
something better, take the command 
of that. That is a surer method of ob- 
taining the Golden Fleece than by car- 
rying the Holy Ghost into Spain.” 

“ Madam,” said Laval, “ it was agreed 
that you should fix upon each the place 
you reserved to him, and what you de- 
signate will be always accepted grate- 
fully by the most humble of your ser- 
vants.” 

“ And you. Pompadour,” said Madam 
du Maine, thanking Count Laval with a 
gesture ; “ and you, what have you 
done r 


112 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


According to the instructions of 
Your Highness,” re urned the marquis, 
“ I went to Normandy, where I had the 
protest of the nobility signed ; I bring 
back thirty signatures of the best.” 

He drew a paper from his pocket. 

‘‘ Here is the request to the King, 
then, after the request, the signature : 
see. Madam.” 

The duchess almost snatched the pa- ; 
per from the hand of the Marquis de 
Pompadour. Then, throwing her eyes 
rapidly upon it : 

“ Yes, yes,” said she, “ you have done 
well : signed without distinction or dif- 
ference of rank and houses, so no per- 
son can find anything to blame. Yes, 
that will spare all contestation of prece- 
dence. Well. William Alexander of 
Vieux Pont, Pierre Anne Marie de la 
Pailleterie, de Beaufremont, de Latour 
Dupin, de Chatillon. Yes, you are 
right. They are the best as they are 
the most faithful names of France. 
Thanks, Pompadour ; you are a worthy 
messenger.” 

“ And you, Chevalier,” continued the 
duchess turning to d’Harmental, with 
that charming smile to which she knew 
there could be no resistance. 

“ I, Madam ?” said the chevalier ; 
“pursuant to the orders of Your High- 
ness, 1 departed for Bretagne, and, arriv- 
ing at Nantes, I opened my despatches 
and learnt my instructions.” 

“ Well ?” demanded the duchess. 

“ Well, Madam,” resumed d’Harmen- 
tal, “ I have been as happy in my mission 
as Laval and Pompadour in theirs. 
Here is the engagement of Messieurs 
de Mont Louis, de Bonamores, de Pont 
Callet and de Rohan Soldue. Let Spain 
only make a squadron appear in sight 
of their coasts and all Bretagne will 
rise.” 

“ You see, you see. Prince !” cried the 
duchess to Cellamare with an accent full 
of ambitious joy, “ all seconds us.” 

“ Yes,’’ rejoined the prince. “ But 
those four gentlemen, influential as they 
are, are not alone all we could have ; 
there are still the Laguerche Saint 
Amants, the Bois Davys, the Laroche- 
foucault Gondrals and whom know I ? the 
Decourts, the d’Erees, whom it is im- 
portant to gain.” 


“ They are. Prince,” said d’Harmen- 
tal, “ and here are their letters !” 

And taking many letters from his 
pocket, he opened two or three and read 
at hazard : 

“ I am So flattered by the honor 
Your Highness confers upon me, that 
in a general assembly of the States, 1 
will join my voice to all those of the 
nobility which would prove their attach- 
ment. 

“ Marquis Decourt.” 

“ If 1 have esteem and consideration 
in my .province, I shall but use them to 
maintain the justice of the cause of 
Your Most Serene Highness. 

“ La Rochefoucault Gondral.” 

“If the success of your affair de- 
pends upon the approbation of seven or 
eight hundred gentlemen, I venture to 
assure you. Madam, that it will be soon 
decided in the favor of Your Most 
Serene Highness. I have the honor to 
offer you again all who depend upon me 
in these parts. 

“ Count d’Eree.” 

“Well, Prince,” cried Madam du 
Maine, “will you become ours now? 
See, besides those three letters, here is 
one fiom Lavauguyon, one from Bois 
Davy, one from Fumee. Stay, stay, 
Chevalier ; here is our right hand : let 
it be a gage that on the day when its 
signature will be a royal one, there is 
nothing which it can refuse you.” 

“Thanks, Madam,” said d’Harmen- 
tal, respectfully pressing his lips to it ; 
“ but this hand has ali eady accorded me 
more than I deserve, and si.ccess itself 
will repay me so liberally in placing 
Your Highness in the position she should 
occupy that 1 should that day have no- 
thing to desire.” ^ 

“And now, Valef, it is your turn,” 
resumed the duchess : “ we have kept 
you till the last, because you are the 
most important. If 1 compiehended 
the signs we exchanged at dinner, you 
were not displeased with Their Catholic 
Majesties, were you ?” 

“ What says your Highness of a let- 
ter written by the very hand of His 
Majesty, King Philip ?” 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


113 


** What would I say of an autograph 
letter of His Majesty cried Madam 
du Maine, ‘‘ I say that it is more than 1 
ever ventured to hope.” 

“ Pi ince,” said Valef passing a paper 
to Cellamare, “ you know the writing of 
His Majesty, K'ng Philip V., assure 
Her Royal Highness, who dares not be 
lieve, that this letter is entirely in his 
hand.” 

“Entirely,” said Cellamare bowing, 
“ entirely, it is the truth.” 

“ And to whom is it addressed ?” said 
Madam du Maine taking it from the 
prince’s hands. 

“ To King Louis XV., Madam,” said 
Yalef. 

“ Good, good,” said the duchess, “ we 
will place it under His Majesty’s eyes 
by Marshal de Villeroy. Let us see 
what he says,” and she read it as rapidly 
as the difficulty of the writing would 
permit. 

“ ‘ The Escurial, 19 March, 1718. 

“ ‘ Since Providence has placed me 
upon the throne of Spain, I have not 
lost from my sight for a single instant 
Ihe obligations of my birth: Louis 
XIV., of eternal memory, is always pre- 
sent to my mind. It seems as if 1 al- 
ways hear what that great prince said 
as he embraced me at the moment of 
our separation . There are no more 
Pyrenees !’ 

“ ‘ Your Majesty is the only scion of 
my eldest brother, of whom 1 ever feel 
deeply ; God has called you to the suc- 
cession of that great monarchy, the 
glory and interests of which will be 
ever precious until my death, I have 
at t e bottom of my heart, and 1 shall 
never forget, for nothing in the world, 
what I owe to Your Majesty, to my 
country, and to the memory of my old- 
est brother. 

“ ‘ My dear Spaniards, who love me 
tenderly and whose love they are as- 
sured I return, are not jealous of the 
sentiments to which you are witness, i 
and I feel that our union is the base of i 
public tranquillity. I flatter myself 
that my pei^feonal interests are still dear ; 
to a nation which nourished me in its < 
bosom, and that the generous nobility 
who has shed so much blood for their ] 
supporter will always look with loveli 


I upon a king who glories in being born 
among them. 

“ This refers to you. Messieurs,” said 
the duchess interrupting and graciously 
saluting those around her ; then she 
continued, impatient as'she was to know 
the rest ol’ the epistle : 

“‘With what eye then can your 
faithful subjects regard the treaty which 
has been signed against me, or better to 
say against yourself (the Quadruple 
A1 Lance) ? Since the time that our 
exhausted flnances could not furnish the 
expenses of peace, they wish Your 
Majesty to unite with my most mortal 
enemy (The Emperor) and to make war 
against me if I do not consent to give 
up Sicily to the Arch-duke. 

“ I will never set my hand to such 
conditions, they are insupportable. 

“ I shall not enter upon the fatal con- 
sequences of that alliance; I incessantly 
pray Your Majesty to instantly con- 
voke the Etats-generaux of the kingdom 
to deliberate, i upon an affair of so great 
a consequence. 

“ The Etats-generaux !” murmured 
Cardinal Polignac. 

“ Well ! what says Your Eminence 
of the Etats-generaux interrupted 
Madam du Maine impatiently. “ That 
measure does not obtain your approba- 
tion 

“ I neither blame nor approve, Ma- 
dam,” responded the cardinal ; “ only I 
think that a convocation was made dur- 
ing the League and that Philip II. found 
himself badly off.” 

“Then times and the men are changed, 
M. le Cardinal,” quickly rejoined the 
Duchess du Maine. “ We are no more 
in 1594, but in 1718 : Philip 11. was 
Flemisli and Philip V. is French: the 
same results cannot be represented since 
the' causes are different. Pardon, gen- 
tlemen.” And she returned to her 
reading : 

“ ‘ I make you this prayer in the 
name of the blood which unites us, in 
the name of the great king from whom 
we originate, in the name of your people 
and my own: if there is ever an oc- 
casion to listen to the voice of the 
French nation, it is to-day. It is indis- 
pensable to hear what it thinks, to know 
if indeed it would declare war. I hope 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR. 


lU 

that you will reply quickly to the pro- 
posal I make; let the assembly which 
I ask of you be forewarned of the un- 
fortunate engagements into which we 
may fall, and let the forces of Spain 
but be employed to support the great- 
ness of France and to humiliate its 
enemies, for I never shall employ them 
but to testify to Your Majesty the sin- 
cere and inexpressible affection which I 
have for Fi ance.” 

“Well! what say you to tliat. Sirs? 
His Catholic Majesty could not do 
more for us,” said Madam du Maine. 

“He can join to that 1 tter an epistle 
directly addressed to the Etats-gen- 
eraux,” replied the cardinal ; “ that 
epistle, if the king will deign to send it, 
will have, I am certain, a great influence 
upon t leir deliberation.” 

“It is here,” said Prince Cellamare 
draining a paper from his pocket. 

“ What, Prince,” returned the cardi- 
nal, “ what say you ?” 

“ I say that His Catholic iMajesty 
has been uf Your Eminence’s mind, 
and that this letter, which is the com- 
pletion of the one sent by the Baron de 
Valef, is addressed to me.” 

“ Then, nothing is 'wanted !” cried 
Madam dn Maine. 

“We miss Bayonne,” said Prince 
Cellamare shaking his head. “ Ba- 
3 mnne, the port of Fiance.” 

At this moment, d’Avram lies an- 
nounced the Dukede Richelieu. 

“And, now. Prince, you can miss 
nothing,” said the Marquis do Pompa- 
dour laughing, “ for here we have the 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE DUKE DE RICHELIEU. 

“At last,” cried the duchess on see- 
ing Richelieu enter, “ it is you, M. le 
Duke ; you are always the same, and 
your friend cannot count upon you any 
more than can your mistress.” 

“ On the contrary. Madam,” said 
Richelieu, approaching the duchess and 
kissing her hand with that easy respect 
"which indicated the man for whom wo- 


men had no rank, on the contrary, for 
to-day more than ever I feel for your 
Highness w hat should be accorded her.” 

“ So you made a sacrifice for us, 
Duke,” said Madam du Maine laugh- 

'Ugly- 

“ A thousand times greater than you 
can suspect. Imagine whom 1 left?” 

“Madam de Villars?” interrupted 
the duchess. 

“ Oh, no ! better than that.” 

“ Madam de Duras?” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Madam de Nesle?” 

“ Bah 1” 

“Madam dePolignac? Ah, pardon, 
Cardinal.” 

“Go on. It does not regard His 
Eminence.” 

“ Madam de Soubise, Madam de Ga- 
lu'iant. Madam de Gace?” 

“ No, no, no.” 

“Mademoiselle de Charolais?” 

“ I have not seen her since my last 
trip to the Ba stile.” 

“ Madam de Berry ?” 

“ You know w'ell enough that since 
Riom had the idea of fighting, she is 
mad.” 

“ Mademoiselle de Valois ?” 

“ I spare her to make her my wife 
when we are successful and I am a Span- 
ish prince. No, Madam, 1 quitted for 
your Highness two most charming gri- 
settes !” 

“ Grisettes — ah ! fie !” cried the 
duchess with a movement of the lips of 
undefinable disdain ; “I did not believe 
you would descend to that species.” 

“What! Two charmers, Madam 
Michelin and Madam Renaud. You do 
not know them ? MadameMinchin, a 
blonde, a veritable head of Greuze; 
her husbami is an upholsterer. I rec- 
ommend him to you. Duchess. Madam 
Renaud, an adorable brunette, with blue 
eyes and black eyebrows, and then her 
husband is, in faith ! 1 cannot recol- 

lect.” 

“ He is M. Renaud, probably,” said 
Pompadour laughing. 

“ Pardon, M. le Duke,” resumed 
Madam duMaine, who had lost all curi- 
osity for the amorous adventures of 
Richelieu from the moment when those 
adventures came from a certain class, 


THE BRIDE OP THE BA STILE 


115 


pnrdoii, but dare I recal to you that 
we are assembled here for serious af- 
fairs 

Ah ! yes, we conspire, do we not f’ 

“ Have you forgot it 1” 

Ma foi ! as a conspiracy is not, you 
will agree, Madame la Duchess du 
Maine, one of the gayest things, all the 
times that I can, I confess, J strive to 
forget I conspire : but tfiat is nothing. 
All the times also when I must recollect 
it I do so. Madam la Duchess, are we 
conspiring p 

Stay, Duke,” said Madam du Maine, 

read those letters, and you will be as 
advanced as we are.” 

Oh, may your Highness excuse 
me,” said Richelieu ; but really I do 
not even read those addressed to me, 
and 1 have seven or eight hundred of 
the most charming writing in the world 
which I preserve for the relaxation of 
my old age. Stay, Malezieux, you are 
clearness itself, make me a report.” 

** Well, Monsieur le Duke,” said Mal- 
ezieux, ‘‘these letters are the engage- 
ments of Breton lords to support the 
rights of Her Highness.” 

“ Very well !” 

“ This paper is the protest of the no- 
bility.” 

“ Oh, pass me that paper. I protest.” 

“But you do not know against whom.” 

“ No matter, I always protest.” 
And taking the paper, he wrote his 
name after that of William Antoine de 
Chastellux, which was the last signature. 

“ Let him do it. Madam,” said Cel- 
iamare to the duchess,“ Richelieu’s name 
is good to have, above all where it is.” 

“ And that letter ?” demanded the 
Duke, indicating Philip the Fifth’s mis- 
sive. 

“This letter,” continued Malezieux, 
“ is a letter in the very handwriting of 
the King Philip V.” 

“ Well ! His Catholic Majesty writes 
yet worse than I,” said Richelieu ; 
“ that pleases me, RafTe always says 
that is impossible.” 

“ If the letter is poorly written, the 
news which it contains are none the less 
good,” said Madam du Maine ; “ for it is 
a letter which entreats the King of 
France to unite the Etats-generaux, to 
oppose the execution of the Treaty of 
the Quadruple Alliances.” 


“ Ah ! ah !” said Richelieu. “ And is 
Your Highness sure of the Etals-gene- 
raux ?” 

“ There is the protest of the nobility. 
The cardinal answers for the clergy, and 
there remains but the army.” 

‘* The army,” said Laval, “ is my af- 
fair. I have the blank signatures of 
twenty-two colonels.” 

“ First,” said Richelieu, “ I will an- 
swer for my regiment, which is at Ba- 
yonne and which consequently is in a 
position to render us great services,” 

“ Yes,” said Cellamere, “we can coiiut 
upon it there, but 1 have heard it said 
that there was rumor of chanjiinor the 

• ^ O O 

garrison. 

“Seriously.” 

“^t may be more seriously. You see, 
Duke, that it may be done in advance of 
our plan.” 

“What! this instant! Paper, some 
ink — I will write to the Duke de Ber- 
wick. At the moment of en ering upon 
the campaign, it will not be astonishing 
that I solicit fi'om him the favor of not 
being distant from the scene of war.” 

The Duchess du Maine hastened to 
pass herself what Richelieu requested, 
and taking up a pen, presented it. 

The duke bowed, took the pen, and 
wrote the fjllowing letter, which w'c 
copy textually and without changing a 
syllable : ' 

“ M. le Duke de Berwick, 

“ Peer and Marshal of France. 

“ As my regiment. Sir, is ready to 
march, and as it is after making an 
abillement, that it totally lost, before 
achieving, it was obliged to make some 
movement 

‘ I have the honor of supplicating 
you. Monsieur, to leave me at Bayonne 
until the commencement of May when 
the abillement shall be made, and 1 supli- 
cate you to believe me, with all possible 
consideration, 

“ Your very humble and very obedi- 
ent servant, 

“ Due DE Richelieu.” 

“ And now read it. Madam,” continu- 
ed the duke passing the paper to Madam 
du Maine ; “ by the means of that pre- 
caution the regiment will not stir from 
Bayonne.” 


/ 


116 


THE ORAXGK PLUME; OR, 


The duchess took the letter, read it 
and passed it to her neighbor who passed 
it to another, till the letter went round 
the table. Happily for the duke, the 
affair was of too great an importance 
for them to be inquieted upon so small a 
thing as some letters more or less. Male- 
zieux alone, who was the last, could not 
repress a slight smile. 

‘‘ Ah, ah ! Monsieur le Poet,’’ said 
Richelieu, who suspected the cause, “you 
laugh. It appears that we have had the 
misfortune to offend that ridiculous 
prude called orthography. What would 
you ? I am a gentleman and they forgot 
to teach me French, thinking that 1 
could always, by the means of fifteen 
hundred livres a year, have a valet who 
would write my letters and make my 
verses. So it is. What prevents me, 
my dear Malezieux, being of the Acade- 
my, not only before you, but before 
Voltaire ?” 

“And the case occurring, M. le Duke, 
will it be your valet who will make 
your discourse of reception 

“ He will work, M. le Chancellor ; 
and you shall see if it will be as poor as 
those which certain academicians of my 
acquaintance have made themselves.” 

“ Monsieur le Duke,” said Madam du 
Maine, “ without doubt your reception 
in the illustrious body of which you 
speak will be a curious tiling, and 1 
promise to occupy myself a seat upon 
that great da}^ But, this evening we 
will pass in another manner ; let us re- 
turn, like Madam Deshouliere'-, to our 
mutton.” 

“ Fair Princess,” said Richelieu, 
“speak, I listen. What have you re- 
solved ?” 

“To obtain of the King, by means 
of these two letters, the convocation of 
the Etats-generaux ; then, the Etats- 
generaux assembled, sure of three classes 
as we are, we will make them depose 
the Regent and name Philip V. in his 
place.” 

“ And as Philip V. cannot quit Mad- 
rid, he will give you full powers, and 

we will govern France in his place 

Well ! but that is not so bad. But to 
convoke the Etats-generaux, there must 
be an order from the King.” 

“ The King will sign that order,” re- 
plied Madam du Maine. 


“ Without the Regent knowing it?” 
said Richelieu. 

“ Without the Regent knowing it.” 

“ Then you have promised the Arch- 
bishop of Frejusto make him cardinal.” 

“ No, but I have promised Villeroy 
to make him a grandee and give him the 
Fleece.” 

“ I fear. Madam la Duchess,” said 
Prince Cellamare, “ that all which the 
marshal determines on will be but a 
step w'hich carries along with it as grave 
a responsibility as the one we hope to 
obtain.” 

“ It is not the marshal who must be 
had, but bis wife.” 

“ Ah ! you have made me think,” said 
Richelieu. “ I will charge myself with 
that.” 

“You ?” said the duchess with aston- 
ment. 

“ Yes, I, Madam,” returned Richelieu. 
“ You have your correspondence, I have 
mine. I have seen seven 'or eight letters 
which Your Highness has received to- 
day. Will Your Highness listen to one 
wFich I received yesterday ?” 

“ Is that letter for me alone, or may 
it be read aloud ?” 

“ But these gentlemen are discreet, 
are they not ?” said Richelieu, looking 
around him with an air of unspeakable 
foppery. 

“ I think so,” returned the duchess ; 
“ besides the seriousness of the situa- 
tion ” 

The duchess then took the letter and 
read : 

“ Monsieur lb Duke : 

“ I am a woman of my word : my 
husband is at last gone on that little 
journey you know of. To-morrow at 
eleven o’clock, I shall only be in for 
you. Do not believe that I have decid- 
ed upon this step without due care being 
taken. I commence to fear for M. de 
Villeroy that you will not punish him. 
Come then at the appointed hour to 
prove that I am not to blame in prefer, 
jng you to my rightful lord and masier.’f 

“ Ah ! pardon ! pardon my thought- 
lessness, Madam la Duchess, that is not 
the one I would show you ; that is day 
before yesterday’s letter. Wait, here 
is yesterday’s.” 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


117 


The Duchess du Maine took the se- 
cond letter from M. de Richelieu and 
read : 

My dear Armaiid.” 

Is this truly it, and you do not de- 
ceive me again?” said the duchess turn- 
ing to Richelieu. 

“ No, Your Highness, this time you 
have it.” 

The duchess began : 

“ My dear Armand. 

‘‘You are a dangerous advocate when 
you plead against M. de Villeroy. I 
have need at least to exaggerate your 
talents to diminish rny weakness: you 
have in my heart an interested judge to 
make you gain your cause. Come to- 
morrow to plead again, 1 will give you 
hearing upon my tribunal, as you yes- 
terday called the unlucky %ofa.” 

“ And have you been ?” 

“ Certainly, Madam.^^ 

“ So, the duchess ” 

“Will do, I hope, all we desire, and 
as she will make her husband do all she 
wishes, we shall have our order of the 
convocation of the Etats-generaux on the 
marshal’s return.” 

“ And wEen do^s he return ?” 

“ In eight days.” 

“ Have you the courage of being 
faithful all that time. Duke ?” 

“ Madam, when 1 embrace a cause I 
am capable of the greatest sacrifices to 
make it succeed.” 

“ So we can depend upon your word?” 

I devote myself.” 

“ Messieurs,” said the Duchess du 
Maine, “ you have heard, continue your 
operations, each on bis side. You, Laval, 
act upon the army. You, Pompadour, 
the nobility. You, Cardinal, the clergy. 
And we have Monsieur le Duke de 
Richelieu to act upon Madam de Ville- 
roy.” 

“ And on what day do we assemble 
again ?” inquired Cellamare. 

“ That all depends upon circumstan- 
ces, Prince,” replied the duchess. “ At 
all events, if there is not time to warn 
you, 1 shall send the same coach and the 
same coachman who brought you to the 
Arsenal the first time you were there.” 
Then turning to Richelieu she continued, 
rising : 


“ We ask you the rest of your night, 
Duke.” 

“1 beg the pardon of Your High- 
ness,” responded Richelieu ; “ but it is 
absolutely impossible, I am expected in 
the rue des Bons Enfants.” 

“ What ! have you then renewed 
Madam de Sabran ?” 

“ We never broke off. Madam, I beg 
you to believe.” 

“ But, beware, Duke, there is such a 
thing as constancy.*’ 

“ No, Madam, this is calculation.” ^ 

“ So, 1 see you are pursuing your de- 
votion.” 

“ I never do things by half. Madam la 
Duchess.” 

“ Well ! God aid you, we will take 
example by you. Monsieur le Duke, 
we promise. Come, gentlemen,” con- 
tinued the duchess,' “.you have been 
here an hour and a half, and it is time, I 
think, for you to enter the gardens if 
you would not have many comments 
upon our absence. Besides, we have 
upon the water a poor goddess of the 
Night who awaits us to give thanks for 
the preference we have accorded her 
above the sun, and if will not be polite 
to make her wait long.” • 

“With the permission of Your High- 
ness, Madam,” said Laval, “ I must re- 
tain you an instant more to submit to 
you the trouble in which I am.” 

“ Speak, Count,” rejoined the duchess, 
“ what is it ?” 

“ It concerns our requests, our pro- 
tests, our memoirs ; it has lieen agreed, 
you know, that we should print all 
these pieces by workmen who cannot 
read.” 

“ Well ?” 

“ Well, I have purcliased a press, I 
have it in a cellar of a house behind 
the Val-de-Grace. I have the necessary 
workmen, and we have had till now, as 
Your Highness can see, a satisfactory 
result. But the sound of the press 
made the neighbors believe that we were 
making false money, and yesterday a 
descent of the police took place upon 
the house. Fortunately there was time 
to stop the press and roll a bed over the 
traphole, so that Voyer Argenson’s al- 
guazils saw nothing. But- as such a 
visit may again occur and not end well, 


118 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


the instant they departed, I discharged 
the workmen, buried the press and have 
brought all the proofs here.’^ 

“ And you have done rightly, 
Count !” cried Cardinal Polignac. 

Yes, but what are we now to do 
demanded Madam du Maine. 

‘‘ liemove the press to my house,^’ 
said Pompadour. 

Or to mine,^’ said Valef.’* 

“ No, no,” said Malezieux, a press 
is too dangerous, a man of the police 
may question the workmen and all will 
be lost. Besides, we have very little 
now to be printed. 

Yes,” sa d Laval, the greater part 
is done.’^ 

Well,” continued Malezieux, ‘‘my 
advice is to have recourse immediately, 
as 1 first proposed, to an intelligent copy- 
ist, discreet and sure, to whom we can 
give enough money to insure his si- 
lence.” 

“ Oh ! in that manner, it will be 
safer,” cried Polignac. 

“ Yes, but where can we find such a 
man said the prince ; “ you under- 
stand that, in an affair of this impor- 
tance, it will be dangerous to take the 
first comer.” 

‘Of I dared- ” said the Abbe 

Brigand. 

“ Dare, Abbe, dare,” said the Duchess 
du Maine. 

“ I would say,” said the abbe, “ that 
I have the man under my hand.” 

“ AVell, have I not said,” cried Pom- 
padour, “ that the abbe is a precious 
man?” 

“But truly will he?” asked Polignac. 

“ Oh ! Your Eminence can find none 
better. A machine, who will write all 
without reading anything.” 

“ Then, for greater precaution,” said 
the prince, “ we will reduce the most 
important papers to Spanish, and as 
those papers are especially destined to 
His Catholic Majesty, w'e shall have the 
double advantage of proceeding in a 
language unknown to our copyist, and 
as naturally that wdll be more difficult, 
it will give occasion to pay more, with- 
out his suspecting the importance of 
what he copies.” 

“ Then, Prince,” said Brigand, “ I 
have the honor of sending him to you.” 


“ No, no,” said Cellamare, “ he must 
not meet the Ambassador of Spain. 
All should be done by intermediary, if 
you please.” 

“ Yes, yes, we will arrange all that,” 
said Madam du Maine, “ the man is 
found, that is the principal thing : do 
you answ^er for him. Brigand ?” 

“Yes, Madam.” 

“That is ail; now, notliing retains 
us,” continued the duchess, “ Monsieur 
d’Harmental, your arm 1 beg.” 

The chevalier obeyed Madam du 
Maine, who not having until then 
thought of him, as she had of the others, 
seized this occasion to express, by that 
favor, her gratitude for the courage 
which he had shown in the rue des 
Bons-Enfants and the skilful ness he had 
given proof of in Bretagne. 

At the door of the pavilion, the 
Greenland envoys attired as simple in- 
vited guests to the festival of Sceaux, 
found a little galley adorned with the 
arms of France and Spain, which, in 
place of the bridge wffiich had disappear- 
ed, waited to carry them to the other 
side. Madam du Maine entered the 
first, made d’Harmental sit beside her, 
and left Malezieux to do the honors to 
Cellamare and Richelieu; then imme- 
diately, at the signal given by hidden 
music, the galley proceeded towards the 
bank. 

As the duchess had said, the goddess 
of Night, arrayed in a long black gauze 
robe spangled with golden stars, waited 
on the other side of the little piece of 
water, accompanied by the tw^elve Hours 
who appertained to her empire; t^e 
galley was directed towards this group, 
which, the instant they saw the duchess 
was within hearing, commenced a canta- 
ta appropriate to the subject. This can- 
tata opened with a chorus of four verses, 
to which succeeded a solo, followed by 
a second chorus, all of which was in such 
an exquisite taste that Malezieux was 
turned to by all to felicitate him, as 
grand director of the festivities, upon 
this diverlisement. 

At the first notes of the solo, d’Har- 
mental felt a strange shudder come 
over him, for the voice of the singer 
had, with that voice so well known and 
so dear to him, such an affinity that, im* 


THE BRIDE OF 

probable as would be Bathilde’s presence 
at Sceaux, the chevalier raised himself 
to an erect posture to look for the per- 
son whose accent caused him such emo- 
tion. Unfortunately, notwithstanding 
the torches the Hours, her subjects, held 
in their hands, he could not perceive 
the visage of the goddess, co vered as it 
was by a veil similar to that robe she 
was attired wiih. 

He only heard that voice, pure, flexi- 
ble, sonorous, mounting and descending, 
with that full, learned and skillful 
method which he had so much admired 
when for the first time it had struck 
him in the rue du Temps-perdu, and 
each accent of which, more distinct as 
they neared the bank, had an echo in 
his heart and made him quiver from 
head to foot. Fin illy the galley touch- 
ed the land, the solo ceased and the cho- 
rus resumed. But d’Harmental, s;till 
standing and insensible to all other 
thoughts than the one occupying him, 
continued to follow, in his recollections, 
the singer’s notes. 

Well, d’Harmental,” said the 
Duchess du Maine, “are you so accessible 
to the charms of music that you have 
forgotten that you are my chevalier 
“ Oh, pardon ! pardon. Madam,” said 
d’Harmental leaping from the galley and 
extending his hand to the duchess, “ but 
it seems to me I recognize that voice, 
and that voice, 1 ought to confess, re- 
calls such powerful remembrances.” 

“ That proves that you are a frequen- 
ter of the opera, my dear Chevalier,” 
said the duchess, “ and that you ap- 
preciate Mademoiselle Bury’s talent.” 

“What! that voice is Mademoiselle 
Bury’s demanded d’Harmental aston- 
ished. 

“ Her own, sir, and if you do not be- 
lieve my word,” replied the duchess 
slightly vexed, “ permit me to take the 
arm of Laval and Pompadour, and you 
go to assure yourself.” 

“ Oh, M idam,” said d’Harmental re- 
spectfully retaining the hand the duch- 
ess had made a movement to withdraw, 
“will Your Highness excuse me. We 
are in the gardens of spells, and a mo- 
ment of error is permitted amid such 
enchantments.” 

* And again presenting his arm to the 


THE BASTILE. 119 

duchess he went with her in the direc- 
tion of the chateau. 

At this instant a faint cry was heard, 
and faint as it was, it reached d’Har- 
mental s heart, and he turned despite 
himself. 

What is that?” asked Madam du 
Maine, with an inquietude mixed with 
impatience. 

Nothing, nothing,” said Richelieu, 
“ it is little Bury in her vapors : but 
reassure yourself. Madam la Duchess, 

[ know the malady, it is not dangerous, 
and if you desire it 1 will bring you an. 
account of it to-morrow.” 

Two hours after this little incident, 
which was too triffling a thing to disturb 
the festival, the Chevalier d’Harmental, 
accompanied to Paris by the Abbe 
Brigand, entered his little attic of the 
rue Temps-perdu, from which he had 
been absent six weeks. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

JEALOUSY. 

D’IIarmental’s first sensation on en- 
tering his little room was a sentiment 
of well-being at finding himself in that 
chamber where everything recalled 
some remembrance. Though absent 
for six months from the apartment, one 
would have said he had only left it the 
last evening, for thanks to the maternal 
cares of Madam Denis, everything was 
in its place. D’Harmental remained 
for an instant with his candle in his 
hand, loooking around him with an ex- 
pression almost resembling ectasy ; all 
the other impressions of his life were 
effaced before those which he experien 
ced in this little retreat. 

Then the first moment passed he ran 
to the window, opened it and tried to 
pierce with an unspeakable look of love 
the gloomy glasses of his neighbors. 
Doubtless Bathilde slept in her angel’s 
slumber, ignorant that d’Harmental had 
returned, but there he was looking from 
his window, trembling with love and 
hope, as if, a thing impossible, that win- 
dow would open and speak to him ! 

D’Harmental remained thus for more 


120 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


than half an hour, respiring the night 
air which had never before seemed so 
pure and fresh ; and carrying his eyes 
from that window to the sky and from 
the sky to that window. D’Harrnental 
then only comprehended how Bathilde 
had become a necessity of his life, and 
how deep and powerful was the love he 
bore for her. 

Finally d’Harmental closed his win- 
dow : but that could not bar out the 
recollections which were born from 
the time he re-entered his chamber. 
He then opened the piano, which was a 
little out of tune from his long absence, 
and passed his fingers over the keys, at 
risk of again exciting the third floor 
lodger’s anger. 

From the piano he passed to the 
pasteboard on which was Bathilde’s un- 
finished portrait. The drawing was a 
little effaced but it w^as still the fair, 
chaste young girl, and the capricious 
little head of Mirza. 

All was as it had been left, save that 
light touch of destruction which Time 
always leaves upf)n the objects which in 
passing he touches wdth his wing. After 
having once more stopped before each 
object, oppressed by that sleep which is 
always so powerful at a certai ) period 
of life, he threw himself upon the bed 
and slept, hearing again in his mind the 
cantata sung by Mademoiselle Bury, of 
whom he made, in that vague twilight 
of thought which precedes complete as- 
sumption, the same person as Bathilde. 

On awaking, D’Harmental bounded 
from his bed, and ran to the window. 
The day appeared far advanced : the sun 
shone magnificently ; and yet, notwith- 
standing those allurments, Bathilde’s 
window was firmly closed. D’Harmen- 
tal glanced at his watch : it was ten o’- 
cloclc. 

The chevalier completed his dressing. 
We have already avowed that he was 
not exempt from a certain feminine co- 
quetry ; it was not his fault, but that of 
the time, when all was manner — even 
passion. But this time it was not upon 
the melancholy expression of his coun- 
tenance he depended ; it was upon the 
joy of the return which gave to all his 
features a character of admirable clear- 
ness : it was evident that d’Harmentai 


waited but a look from Bathilde to be 
crowned king of creation. 

That look he went to the window to 
find ; but Bathilde’s was still shut. D’- 
Harmental then threw his open hoping 
that the noise would attract his neigh- 
bor ; nothing stirred. He stood there 
an hour: during that hour not a breath 
agitated the curtains ; one would have 
said that the young girl’s chamber was 
abandoned. D’Harmental coughed, shut 
down his window, threw it open again, 
detached little bits of plaster from the 
wall and threw them against the window 
panes : all was useless. 

Then v surprise succeeded uneasiness ; 
that window, so obstinately closed, in- 
dicated at least an absence, following 
some misfortune. Bathilde absent, where 
could she be ? what event had such in- 
fluence as to displace her from that life 
so calm, so gentle, so regular ? Who 
was there to ask ? who could inform him ? 
There was but Madam Denis who could 
know anything. It was very simple 
that d’Harmental, returning in the night, 
should in the morning pay a visit to his 
landlady. D’Harmental descended to 
Madam Denis’s. 

Madam Denis had not seen her lodger 
since the day of the breakfast ; she had 
not forgotten the cares which d’Harmen- 
tal had given whdn she had swooned : 
she received him as the prodigal sen. 

Happily for d’Harmental, the two sis- 
ters were occupied with their lessons, 
and Boniface was with his attorney ; so 
that he had only his respectable landlady. 
The conversation fell naturally upon the 
-order and care maintained in the little 
chamber during the occupant’s absence. 
From that to inquire if during his ab- 
sence the apartment in front of his had 
changed its lodger, was a simple transi- 
tion : so the question, put unaflectedly, 
would no doubt bring an answer. 

The day before, in the morning. Mad- 
am Denis had seen Bathilde at her win- 
dow", and, in the evening, Boniface had 
met Buvat returning from his desk ; only 
M. J Oulu’s third clerk had remarked an 
air of majestic haughtiness, which the 
heir of the name of Denis had noticed 
no more tlian that it was little suited to 
the wor hy w riter's physiognomy. 

This was all d’Harmental wished to 


THE BRIDE OP THE BA STILE. 


121 


know,. Bathilde was in Paris and at 
home. No doubt, chance had not yet 
directed her attention to that window 
which she had seen shut, towards that 
room’ which for so long a time had been 
empty. D’Harmental renewed his 
thanks to Madam Denis for all her 
thoughtfulness in his absence, and took 
leave of his good hostess with an effu- 
sion of acknowledgment she was far 
from attributing to the true cause. 

Upon the stairs, d’Har mental met the 
Abbe Br.gaud who came to make his 
quotidian visit to Madam Denis. The 
abbe asked the chevalier if he wished 
him to mount to his room, and upon his 
atlii'ijiative reply, said that on coming 
from Madam Denis, he would go to his 
fourth floor. D’Harniental, who did not 
intend to go out that day, promised to 
wait. 

On re- entering his chamber, d’Har 
mental went direct to the window. 
Nothing was changed in his neighbor’s 
apartment ; the curtains, scrupulously 
drawn, left not' the smallest opening for 
the eye to penetrate. D’Harmental re- 
solved to employ a means he had re- 
served for his last resource ; he went to 
his p.ai-lt), and, after a brilliant prelude, 
sung, with an accompaniment of his 
own, the air of the cantata of the Night, 
wliieh he had heard at Sceaux, and, 
which from the first to the last note, had 
remained upon his memory. But though, 
while he was singing, bis eyes lost not 
the inexorable window from sight, all 
remained mute and motionless : the op- 
posite chamber had not even an echo. 

But in missing the effect he expected, 
d’Harmental had produced another he 
did not expect. As he finished the last 
measure, he heard clapping of hands 
behind him, he turned and perceived the 
Abbe Brigand. 

“ Ah ! it is you, Abbe !” said d’Har- 
mental, rising and closing his window. 
•‘The deuce ! 1 did not know you were so 
great a connoisseur.” 

“Nor 1 you were so good a musician. 
Peste! my dear pupil, a cantata you only 
heard once, it is marvellous !” 

“ The air appeared very fine to me, 
that is all,” said d’Harmental, “ and, as I 
have a very fair memory for sounds, I 
retained it.” 


“ And then, it was so admirably sung, 
was it not T’ said the abbe. 

“ Yes,” returned d’Harmental, “ that 
demoiselle Bury has an admirable voice, 
and the first time that her name is upon 
the bills, I have already promised my- 
self to go incognito to the Opera.” 

“ Is it the voice you wish to hear T’ 
inquired Brigand. 

“ Yes,” replied d’Harmental. 

“ Then, you need not go to the Opera 
for that.” 

“ Not go?” 

“ No, remain here, you have the best 
box.” 

“ What ! the goddess of the Night ?” 

“ Was your neighbor.” 

“Bathildel” cried d’Harmental, “I 
have not been deceived, I recognized 
her ! Oh, but it is impossible, Abbe ! 
how could Bathilde have been that 
night at Madam du Maine’s chateau ?” 

“ First, my dear pupil, nothing is im- 
possible in the times in which we live,” 
responded Brigand ; “ have that well in 
your head before you reject or under- 
take anything ; believing in the pro- 
bability of things is the sure way to ob- 
tain them.” 

“ But poor Bathilde ?” 

“ Yes, does it not appear strange at 
first sight? yet notiiing is more simple. 
But the story does not otherwise inter- 
est you, does it, Chevalier ? So, let us 
speak of something else.” 

“ Excuse me, Abbe,” said d’Harmental; 
“ you deceive yourself, the story on the 
contrary interests me in the greatest de- 
gree.” 

“ Well, my dear pupil, since you are 
curious, here is the whole affair^ The 
Abbe de Chaulieu knows Mademoiselle 
Bathilde — is not that what you call your 
neighbor ?” 

“Yes; but how does the Abbe de 
Chaulieu know her?” 

“ Oh ! very simply. The tutor of 
that charming girl, is, as you know or 
as you do not know, one of the copyists 
of the capital who has a superb hand- 
writing.” 

“ Good, well ?” 

“Well, as M. de Chaulieu has need 
of some one to copy his poetry, for he 
is becoming blind, as you know, he is 
iorced to dictate, as they come to him, 


122 


THK ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


to a little footboy who does not even 
know orthography, he addressed Buvat 
to entrust him with that irnpoi taiit work, 
and through Buvat he made the acquaint- 
ance ot Mademoiselle Bathilde.” 

“ But all that does not tell how Ma- 
demoiselle Bathilde was at Madam la 
Duchess du Maine’s.’’ 

Wait, all these stories have their 
commencements, their middle, and their 
end, que diable 

“ Abbe, you will drive me mad.” 

“Patience, my Gqd, patience.” 

“1 have it. Go on, 1 listen.” 

“Well! having made the acquaint- 
ance of Mademoiselle Baihilde, the 
good Chaulieu was subdued, like others 
by the influence of the universal charm ; 
for you know that there is a species of 
magic attached to the young person in 
question, and no one can see her with- 
out loving her.” 

“1 know it,” murmured d’Harmental. 

“ Then, as Mademoiselle Bathilde has 
many talents, and not only things like a 
nightingale but designs like an angel, 
Chaulieu spoke of her .^o enthusiastically 
to Mademoiselle de Launay, that the 
latter thought of her to make the cos- 
tumes of the different persons who 
played a part in the festival she pre- 
pared, and which we witnessed yester- 
night.” 

“All that does not say tMat Ma- 
demoiselle Bathilde and not Mademois- 
elle Bury was the one who sang the can- 
tata of Night.” 

“ Here it is.” 

“ At last.” 

“ But it happened to Mademoiselle 
Launay like it does to every one else ; 
she took the little sorceress in friend- 
ship. Instead of sending after her to 
design the costumes, she kept her three 
days at Sceaux. She was there two 
days ago, shut up with Mademoiselle de 
Launay in her chamber, when they 
came in frightened to say to your bat 
that the manager of the Opera demand- 
ed audience upon an affair of the utmost 
importance. Mademoiselle de Launay 
went out leaving Bathilde alone.” 

“ Well 1” 

“Bathilde was left alone, say I, and as 
Mademoiselle Launay was slow to re- 
turn, irhe commenced, to pass away the 


time, to play upon the piano ; and find- 
ing it in tune, she played some notes, 
then sung some gamuts ; after that she 
began a great air from some opera and 
with such perfection, that Mademciiselle 
de Launay hearing it as she was return- 
ing, opened the door softly, listened to 
the great air, till the end, and when it 
was ended, came and threw her arms 
around the neck of the fair singer crying 
out that she could save her life. Ba- 
thilde was astonished, and enquired in 
what way she could render so great a 
service. 

“ Then Mademoiselle de Launay re- 
lated how Mademoiselle Bury of the 
Opera was engaged to come and sing 
the cantata of Night at Sceaux, how she 
had become seriously ill, and she must 
say, to her great regret, to Her Royal 
Highness the Duchess du Maine, that 
she begged her to do without the sing- 
ing; ihat there would be no one to per- 
sonate Night and consequently no fes- 
tivities.” 

“ 1 see, I see.” 

“Yes, but Mademoiselle Bathilde did 
not, and when she did, she resisted with 
all her power; she declared that she 
could not sing music she did not know. 
Mademoiselle de Launay placed the can- 
tata before her. Bathilde said it was 
horribly difficult. Mademoiselle de 
Launay at last persuaded her, and she 
sung it from end to end with admirable 
justness of intonation and character of 
expression. Madam du Maine arrived. 
Mademoiselle de Launay prayed Ba- 
thilde to recommence the cantata. Ba- 
thilde dared not refuse ; she played and 
sang like an angel. Madam du Maine 
joined her prayers to Mademoiselle de 
Launay’s. How can one refuse Madam 
du Maine anything 

“ It is difficult,” replied d’Harmental. 

“ Chevalier, it is impossible,” return- 
ed the abbe. “ Boor Bathilde, blushing, 
confused, half-weeping, half-laughing, she 
consented on two conditions to do as 
they pleased : the first was, that she 
should go and tell herself to her friend 
Buvat the cause of her past absence, and 
of her further stay ; the second, i hat she 
should remain at her house all that eve- 
ning and all the next day’s morning, 
that she might study the cantata. These 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


123 


clauses were accorded under reciprocal 
words : Bathilde’s word that she should 
return the next day at seven o’clock in 
the evening: and the word of Madam 
du Maine and Mademoiselle de Launay, 
that every one should continue to believe 
that it was Mademoiselle Bury who had 
sung.” 

‘‘ But then,” said d’Hafmental, “ how 
was the secret revealed 

“ Ah, by a very unexpected circum- 
stance,” replied the Abbe Brigand, with 
that strange air of his under which no 
one could tell whether he was railing or 
speaking seriously. ‘‘All went marvel- 
lously well, as you saw, until the mo- 
ment when the galley landed, when, 
either it was because it was the first 
time she had appeared in public, or that 
she recognized some one following Mad- 
am du Maine whom she had not expect- 
ed to see in such company, the poor 
goddess of Night uttered a cry and 
swooned in the arms of the Hours, her 
companions. All words were broken, all 
promises as naught. They took off her 
veil to throw water on her faoe so that 
when I ran to her, what was my as- 
tonishment to see instead of Mademoi- 
selle Bury your pretty neighbor ? I 
questioned Mademoiselle de Laifiiay, 
who related all to me under seal of se- 
crecy, but I reveal to you alone, my 
dear pupil, because, I know not why, I 
can refuse you nothing.” 


“ And the indisposition ?” demanded 
d’Harmental, still inquieted. 

“ It is nothing, a momentary shock, 
since Bathilde was not even willing to 
remain half an hour at Sceanx and she 
entreated so hard to return home that 
they gave a coach at her disposal, and 
she started an hour before us on her re- 
turn.” 

“ Return 1 Are you sure she is re- 
turning 1 Thanks, Abbe ; that is all I 
would know, all I would ask.” 

“And now,” said Brigand, “ T can go, 
can I not? you have no need of me, 
you know all you wish to know.” 

“ I did not say that, my dear Brigand ; 
on the contrary remain.” 

“No, I thank you : I have a turn to 
make through the city. I will leave you 
to your reflections, my very dear pupil.” 

“And when do you return, Abbe?” 
mechanically inquired d’Harmental. 

“ To-morrow, probably,” replied the 
Abbe. 

“ To-morrow, then.” 

‘ To-morrow.” 

Upon which the abbe, laughing with 
that laugh of which he was sole pos- 
sessor, opened and shut the door of the 
apartment, while d’Harmental re-opened 
the window, deciding to remain sentinel 
even to the morrow if he must, to see, 
the price of his long watch, Batlfi.lde if 
but for an instant, a second. 

The poor gentleman was in 
student. 


124 


THE ORANGE PLUME; OR, 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A FEW minutes after four, d’Harmen- 
tal perceived Buvat turning the corner 
of the street. He entered the house in 
great haste, and showed himself but a 
short time at the window. But Mirza 
soon appeared alone on the terrace ; he 
called to her, and she starting at the 
sound of her name, looked, and recog- 
nised the man of the lumps of sugar. 
She uttered a half suppressed yelp of 
joy, fled down the stairs and crossed the 
street. D’Harmental had scarcely time 
to close his window, when he heard her 
scratching at his door. He opened it 
and Mirza, bounding into the room, tes- 
tified her joy at his return by a thousand 
gambols. 

The chevalier placed the sugar-basin 
within reach of his visitor, sat down be- 
fore his desk, and wrote as follows : 

Dear Bathilde, 

“ I am sure you think me very 
guilty ; yet you cannot know the strange 
circumstances which I have to plead as 
an excuse. Could I but see you a mo- 
ment, a single moment, you would un- 
derstand at once why there are in me 
two different personages — the student 
of the attic story and the nobleman of 
the fete atSceaux ; then either open your 
window, that 1 may see you, or ybur 
door, that I may speak to you ; permit 
me to go and beg your forgiveness on 
my knees. I am sure that you will have 
pity on me, when you know how un- 
happy 1 am, and how much I love you. 

“ Adieu, or, rather, au revoir, dear 
Bathilde. 1 love you more tlian I can 
express, more than you can ever sus- 
pect. 

“ Raoul.’’ 

This note was affixed to the collar of 
Mirza, who was, forthwit'n, sent home 
with it. But he w^aited vainly the whole 
evening for a glimpse at Bathilde; at 
eleven the light, whose faint glimmer 
had been till then scarcely perceptible 
through the strictly closed double cur- 
tains, was extinguished. D’Harmental 
stood up one hour longer before his 
open window, watching for some sign of 


reconciliation ; but he saw nothing: al 
remained silent and dark, and reluctant- 
ly he determined to defer till the morn- 
ing all hopes of seeing her he loved. 

The morning came, and no change 
took place ; it was decidedly, on the 
part of his neighbor, a settled system 
of resistance. 

D’Harmental revolved in his mind a 
thousand projects : he thought, for a 
moment, of crossing the street and tell- 
ing her all ; but that might olFeiid her, 
and she was already but too much of- 
fended. 

At two. Brigand came in, and found 
d’Harmental horribly cross ; one glance 
at the window on the opposite side of 
the street, which still remained closed, 
revealed all to the abbe. 

The ^ latter soon led the conversa- 
tion to the subject uppermost in the 
mind of d’Harmental, and gave him an 
excuse for paying a visit to the house 
opposite. A copyist was wanted, and 
the man whom Brigand had in his eye 
was none other than the guardian of 
Bathilde. 

I invest you with all my powers,” 
said Brigand ; you can call, offer him 
gold to earn, the door will be opened 
wide for you, and afterwards you can 
sing with Bathilde to your heart’s con- 
tent.” 

“ Ah ! my dear Brigand !” cried d’- 
Hai mental, you have saved my life !” 

Then, seizing his hat, he rushed to- 
ward the door. Nothing could take him 
aback, now that he had a pretext. 

Tell him that he must go for his 
work,” cried Brigand, ‘‘ to the Prince 
de Listhnay, Rue du Bac, No. 10.” 

‘‘The Prince of Listhnay ! what sort 
of a prince may he be, pray 

“ A prince of our ipaking ; d’Aran- 
ches, the valet of Madame du Maine.” 

“ Do you think he will play his part 
well ?” 

“ Not so as to deceive you, who are 
in the habit of seeing real princes, but 
for Buvat he will do.” 

“ You are right. Farewell !” 

Bathilde, on her part, as may be 
guessed, had not accomplished such an 
effort without much suffering. The poor 
girl loved d’Harmental with the whole 


TOE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


125 


powrr of her soul-- with the intrnseness 
of hrst love at seventeen. She had 
counted the hours since her lover’s de- 
parture, and when she was, at length, 
introduced to Mademoiselle de Launay, 
and when she found that she was expect- 
ed to stay there on the very day ap- 
pointed for Raoul’s return, she regretted 
bitterly the hour in which she had con- 
sented to come^ and doubtless would 
have declined staying there any longer 
it the duchess had not added her entreat- 
ies. 

When she returned home, it was the 
last day of Raoul’s absence, but in vain 
she watched for his coming. Three car- 
riages rolled through the street on that 
day, but neither of them brought Raoul 
back. At last the hour of departure 
came. Bathilde gave a last look at the 
window; her neighbor’s was closed as 
before. For the first time she entertain- 
ed the idea that his absence might possi- 
bly extend beyond its appointed term, 
and she started with a heavy heart, de- 
testing more than ever that fete, which 
prevented her from spending the night 
in waiting for him whom she had been 
so long expecting. 

She arrived at Sceaux. There the 
music, the noise, the dazzling aspect of 
the illuminated gardens, and, above all, 
the excitement of having to sing, for the 
first time, in the presence of so great 
and so noble an assemblage, dispelled, 
for a while, from her mind, the torturing 
recollection ; although a sad thought 
would sometimes intrude upon lier, and 
make her sigh, as she remembered that 
her handsome neighbor might arrive at 
that time, and, finding her window clos- 
ed, deem her indifferent to his return. 

What, then, was her amazement at 
beholding by the side of the duchess a 
young noble closely resembling Raoul ! 
when he alighted from the galley, she 
could no longer doubt the identity of 
the two persons ; when she saw him 
whom she had heretofore taken for a 
candid and unsophisticated provincial, 
offer with easy politeness, his arm to 
Madame du Maine, her strength fail(‘d 
her, her limbs refused their support, she 
uttered that cry of pain which liad echo- 
ed to the very soul of d’Harmental and 
she fell senseless. 


As soon as Bathilde returned home 
and was alone, she burst into tears; her 
strength was nothing but pride ; but 
that pride had been deeply wounded, 
and therefore her window remained 
closed. We will not analyze the suffer- 
ing, the thrilling anguish of her poor 
lonely heart. She thought herself the 
most unhappy woman on earth, as d’- 
Harmental conceived himself to be the 
most unfortunate mortal in the world. 

Mirza brought the letter faithfullvT 
The temptation was too great: Bathilde 
seized it and opened it: it said not quite 
enough ; l)ut it stated that the writer 
was desperately in love. Consequently, 
wijthout being perfectly satisfactory, it 
afforded her much relief. 

Bathilde feared, however, to open the 
window ; she feared to appear too eager 
to be reconciled, and on the next morn- 
ing when the sun shone brightly, she 
would have been glad to have enjoyed 
its rays. 

Suffering with doubt how to act, and 
fearful that Raoul would resent her 
liarshness and leave the place forever, 
she yet had not courage to open the 
window ; and Nanette had gone a long 
distance: she would be absent two 
hours. 

She drew Raoul’s letter from her bo- 
som ; she read it again, though she knew 
it by heart. Why, she asked herself, 
had she not yielded at once after reading 
so passionate a letter? Was it not evi- 
dent that it was dictated by a true lov- 
ing heart ? Oh ! she thought, if she 
could only receive another letter ! 

This thought was an inspiration ; Ba- 
thilde took Mirza in her arms, caressed 
her little head, and then trembling as if 
she was about to commit a crime, she 
opened the door that led to the stairs. 

Outside of that door stood a young 
man with his hand on the bell-rope as if 
about to ring. 

Bathilde uttered a cry of joy, and he 
a cry of love. 

The young man was Raoul. 

Bathilde retreated a few steps, for she 
felt as if about to fall into the arms of 
Raoul. 

He, after precipitately closing the 
door, advanced a tew steps, and threvr 
himself at her t\ ci . 


126 


TIIK 011AX(JI': PLUME ; OR, 


They stood thus awhile gazing at 
each other in the ecstacy of love ; but 
though they had so much to impart to 
each other, they both remained silent. 
Tears came into the eyes of Bathilde; 
then, with a sigh, she exclaimed ; 

Heavens ! how I have suffered !” 

“ And 1,” cried d’Harmental ; “ I have 
suffered also, since I appear guilty, and 
yet am innocent.” 

• “ Innocent !” cried Bathilde, who, by 
a most natural reaction, felt all her 
doubts rushing back to her mind. 

‘‘ Yes, innocent !” replied the cheval- 
ier; and then he told her all: as much of 
his life as he had a right to tell, and she 
too, told him her story. Buvat came 
home, and looked astonished to find a 
man in company with his ward ; but the 
chevalier told him of the fine job that 
the Prince de Listhnay had for him, in 
which all the copying to be done was in 
Spanish. Buvat promised to be punc- 
tual. 

‘‘Then, sir, 1 wish you good day,” 
said the chevalier. “You, Mademoi- 
selle,” continued he, turning to Bathil- 
de, “ please accept ray thanks for your 
kindness in keeping me company while 
waiting for M. Buvat, and depend upon 
my everlasting gratitude.” 

Thus speaking, he took leave, with a 
formal bow, of Buvat and his ward,* 
leaving the latter amazed at his self- 
possession. 

But Buvat, after puzzling his brain 
a while, expressed to his ward a strange 
suspicion that this was the same young 
man whom he saw during that eventful 
night when he was so frightened by 
brigands ; “ but, of course,” he added, 
“ it cannot be that one who is acquaint- 
ed with his highness the prince is a cap- 
tain of brigands.” 

Then the old gentleman went to his 
room with the firm intention of doing 
his best for the prince, and although he 
knew not a word of Spanish, he could 
nevertheless read it easily and copy it 
exactly. 

In the meantime our two lovers en- 
joyed their conversation at the windows, 
which latter never closed at a very 
early hour. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

In spite of the difficulty which he 
found in transcribing a foreign language, 
Buvat copied the papers which he re- 
ceived from the Prince de Listhnay 
punctually and carried the copies to his 
employer, so that the prince, feeling 
more and more disposed to confide in 
one who had already given him such 
proofs of regularity, took from his desk 
a bundle of papers, and commanded 
Buvat to fetch the whole back at one 
time. 

Buvat carried home work for three or 
four days, and felt almost disappointed 
when, after having copied a Spanisli 
paper, which, of course, he did not un- 
derstand, he found next to that, one 
written entirely in French. For the 
last few days he had become accustomed 
to ^'panish, and any change in his habits 
was to him a fatigue. Nevertheless, 
Buvat, with a high sense of duty, pre- 
pared scrupulously to perform it ; and 
although the instrument was not num- 
bered, and had, in all respects, the ap- 
pearance of having been slipped into 
the bundle by mistake, he resolved to 
copy it all the same. He commenced 
thus : 

“ Confidential. 

“ For his excellency Monseigneur 
Alberoni in person. 

“Nothing is more important than 
to secure the fortified places in the 
neighborhood of the Pyrenees, and the 
nobles who reside in their vicinity. 

“ In their vicinity ?” repeated Buvat, 
after having written. He continued ; 

“ Either bribe the garrison of Ba- 
yonne, or take the city by surprise. 

“ What !” muttered Buvat; “ now I 
always thought that Bayonne was a 
French place : let us see — let us see,” 

Thus he proceeded, reading the in- 
strument before copying, and at length 
he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes : 

Sabre de bois ! why, this is a conspir- 
acy against the person of the Regent 
and the safety of the kingdom ! oh, oh, 
oh !” 

The more he reflected the more ter- 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


12 ". 


rifled he became. He remembered the 
tortures applied to conspirators to make 
them confess, and found himself in the 
situation of a man entrusted with trait- 
orous secrets. 

The cold sweat fell from his brow, 
till at length, being no longer able to 
contain himself, he ran to Dubois — 
now an archbishop — and put the terri- 
ble paper in his hands. 

To his great scandal, Dubois made 
him continue to receive the papers, from 
the Prince and to bring them to him, as 
fast as he got them copied. This ap- 
peared to Buvat like treachery, but the 
archbishop reminded him of the tortures 
applied to reluctant witnesses, and he 
tremblingly obeyed. 

It was while Buvat was engaged in 
finishing these treasonable copies to the 
Government, that dTIarmental was 
making the most enthusiastic profess- 
ions on the part of Bathilde. It was at 
such a moment that Nanette came in 
and informed the chevalier that some 
person was waiting for him upon an af- 
fair of importance. He went to his 
room where he encouncered the Abbe 
Brigand. 

“ Well,” said the abbe, ‘‘ while you are 
quietly making love to your neighbor, 
many strange things have happened.” 

“ What has passed 1” asked ct’Iiarmeii- 
tal. 

“ What has passed ? oh ! almost no- 
thing, only that we are betrayed, by 
whom I know not ; that the Mareschal 
Villeroy has been arrested this morning 
at Versailles, and# that the two letters 
of Philip V. which he was to have de- 
livered to the king, are in the hands of 
the Regent.” 

After earnest conversation on the 
turn events had taken, it was agreed 
that the Duchess du Maine and her 
friends must be instantly consulted, and 
the chevalier and his friend lost no time 
in bringing about an interview. 

The result was, an agreement that the 
Regent should be seized on the first op- 
portunity. It was said that he went, 
once a week, and crossed the forest of 
Vincennes, ever since Mademoiselle de 
Chartres had been abbess at Chelles, ev- 
en at eight or nine o’clock in the evening, 
in his carriage, alone, and without escort. 


being accompanied only by his coach 
man and two lackeys. 

D’Harmental claimed the right ’ U 
waylay him and conduct him into 
Spaiq, to which the duchess replied : 

“ Yes, I place in your hands the fate 
of the son of Louis XIV, and of the 
grandson of the great Conde ; yes, I de- 
pend entirely upon your devotedness 
and your courage, and I the more hope 
that you will be successful this time, 
that fortune owes you reparation. Yours, 
then, my dear d’Harmental, be all the 
peril, but yours, also, all the honor !” 

“ I accept both with gratitude, Mad- 
ame,” said d’Harmental, respectfully 
kissing the hand which the duchess held 
out -to him, ‘‘and to-morrow at this 
hour I shall either be dead, or the Re- 
gent shall be on the road to Spain.” 

D’Harmental then called upon Capt. 
Roqurefinette and stated to him the pre- 
sent posture of events. The captain 
agreed to be ready with his men, and 
the chevalier presented him with a hun- 
dred louis t-o purchase a horse and arms. 

Roquefinette promised to have his 
men ready on the next day at two o’- 
clock, and at that time, he would call 
upon the c levalier and arrange the terms 
upon which he would undertake the en- 
terprise. 

Roquefinette appeared at the door of 
d’Harmental’s room at the time agreed 
upon. As on the previous day, his coun- 
lenance was grave and pensive, and al- 
though greeted with a smile, no respon- 
sive smile lighted up his stern features. 

“ Come, my very dear Captain,” said 
d’Harmental, somewhat uneasy as to 
the cause of his guest’s unwonted sullen- 
ness ; “ 1 see that you are always the 
personification of punctuality.” 

“ It is a military habit, chevalier, and 
is not at all astonishing in an old sol- 
dier.” 

“ Your men are all ready ?” 

“ In the market, near the Porte Saint 
Martin.” 

“ Now, then, for the conditions, Cap- 
tain,” said d’Harmental : “ let us discuss 
them like friends ; and I believe that 1 
have so taken in advance all my meas- 
ures, that you will be content with 
those I shall offer.” 

“ Let me hear them,” said the cap- 
tain. 


128 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


“ First, I double the sum you received 
last time,” said the chevalier. 

“ Oh !” said Roquefinette, “ I do not 
stand about money.” 

How is that ? you do not stand 
about money, Captain 1” » 

“ No, not the least in the world.” 

And what do you hold to, then ?” 

“ A position.” 

‘‘ What would you imply ?” 

“ I would be a colonel,” said the cap- 
tain. ■ 

“Colonel, impossible!” exclaimed 
d’Har mental. 

“There can be nothing more simple 
chevalier,” returned Roquefinette ; “ we 
made a first attempt on joined account 
which failed. Then you changed your 
mode of attack — you thought to do 
without me, and failed again. The se- 
cond time you failed in open day, so 
that you are all lost, unless you extri- 
cate yourself from the scrape by a 
daring blow at once, since friend Dubois 
knows your names ; and to-morrow, 
perhaps this evening, you will be all ar- 
rested — chevaliers, iDarons, dukes, and 
princes. Now, there is in the world a 
man, one single mail, who can relieve 
you all from embarrassment ; that man 
is myself, Captain Roquefinette. Now, 
here am I becoine a very important per- 
sonage. Treat me correspondingly, or 
1 put my hands in my pockets and let 
Dubois take his course.” 

“ But suppose 1 were to promise that 
you should be a colonel,” said the chev- 
alier, controlling his impatience as well 
as he could, “ who can answer that 1 
shall have influence to get it ratified ]” 

“ It is precisely Tor that reason, chev- 
alier, tljat 1 intend to arrange all my 
little affairs myself.” 

“ Where 1” 

“ At Madrid.” 

“ Who tells you that I shall take you 
there 1” 

“ I know not whether you will take 
me, but 1 know that 1 am going.” 

“ You at Madrid? and what are you 
going there for ?” 

“ To conduct the Regent,” 

“ You are mad !” 

“ It will, however, be so, or it will 
not. { Will conduct the Regent to Mad- 


rid : I will conduct him alone, or the 
Regent shall remain at the Palais 
Royal.” 

“ And you esteem yourself sufficient- 
ly a gentleman,” said d’Harme;ital, “ to 
snatch from the hands of Philippe d’Or- 
leans the sword with which he took the 
hitherto impregnable city of Lorida, and 
which has lain near the sceptre of Louis 
XIV. upon the velvet cushion fringed 
with gold ?” 

“ I have heard in Italy,” replied Ro- 
quefinette, “ that, at the battle of 
Pavia, Francis the First surrendered 
his to a butcher.” 

And the captain took a step towards 
the door. 

“ Come, captain,” said d’Harmental, 
in a conciliating tone, “ let us comprom- 
ise the difference: I will conduct the 
Regent into Spain, and you shall ac- 
company me.” 

“ No, no, chevalier, I will either have 
the sole management of the affair, or 
I will not meddle with, it at ull.” 

“ I will give you twenty thousand 
livres down 1” cried d’Harmental. 

“ Bah !’ answered Roquefinette. 

“I will take you to Spain, and 
pledge you my honor to procure you 
a regiment.” 

Roquefinette began whistling. 

“ Have a care !” said d’Harmental, 
“ there is more danger for you now, at 
the point we have arrived at, and with 
the terrible secrets within your knowl 
edge, in refusing than in accepting.” 

“ And what will happen to me if I 
refuse ?” asked Roquefinette. 

“ This will happen, captain, that you 
will not go out of this room.” 

“Who is to hinder me?” said the 
captain. 

“ I !” exclaimed d’Harmental, resting 
his left foot against the door, drawing 
his sword, and placing himself on 
guard. 

It was a court sword, a very fine 
steel foil, mounted in gold. Roque- 
finette began laughing. 

“ And with what weapon shall I defend 
myself?” said he, looking around. 
“ Have you not by chance had your 
mistress’s knitting-needles, chevalier.” 

“Defend yourself with the sword at 
your side, sir !” replied d’Harmental. 


THE BRIDE OF THE BASTILE. 


129 


“ What think you of that, Colich- 
emarde said the captain sneeringly to 
the illustrious blade which had retained 
the name given it by Ravanne. 

‘‘That you are a coward, captain,” 
cried d’Harmental, “Since one is 
obliged to cut you across the face to 
make you fight !” 

So saying, by a motion as quick as 
lightning, the chevalier drew his pliant 
blade across the face of his adversary, 
leaving a bluish stripe upon his cheek 
resembling the mark left by a blow 
from a whip. 

Roquefinette uttered a cry which 
might have been mistaken for a lion’s 
roar; then making a bound backward, 
he resumed his guard, sword in hand. 

Then commenced a terrible, murder- 
ous, silent duel between these two men; 
for they had been upon the field to 
gether before, and each knew with 
whom he had to cont- nd. 

By a reaction easily comprehended, 
it was now d’Harrimntal who had re- 
gained bis calmness, it was Roquefinette 
upon whose cheek the blood mantled. 
Each moment he menaced d’Harmental 
with his long sword ; but the fragile 
foil, followed it as the needle follows the 
magnet, writhing and hissing around it 
like a viper. At the end of five min- 
utes, the chevalier had not made a 
single hit, but he had parried all. At 
length, urged by a more rapid movement 
that the others, he missed his guard, 
and felt the point of the steel touch his 
breast. At the same time a red spot 
spread from his shirt to his lace frill. 
D’Harmental saw it, sprang forward, 
and engaged Roquefinette so closely 
that the two guards met. The captain 
immediately found out the disadvantage 
such a position gave his long sword. A 
twist of the weapons and he was lost. 
Instantly, he made a step backward ; 
but his left heel slid upon the newly- 
waxed floor; his sword-hand raised in- 
voluntarily, and, by a natural motion, 
d’Harmental took advantage of it, lunged, 
and ran the captain through to the hilt. 
For an instant, the captain remained 
motionless, opened wide his eyes with a 
haggard expression, dropped his sword, 
and clasping both hands, with a spasm 
of writhing anguish, to his wound, fell 
his whole length upon the floor. 


“Devilish fool!” he murmured and 
instantly expired. The thin blade had 
pierced the heart of the giant. 

D’Harmental fled from the scene, 
well aware that he had not a moment 
to lose, to meet the changes which the 
death of Captain Roquefinette must 
cause in the hazardous enterprise he had 
undertaken. He put his horse upon the 
gallop, went along the Boulevards, reach- 
ed the faubourg Saint Antoine, dismount- 
ed at the house No. 15, ran up the stair- 
case till he got to the fifth story, opened 
the door of a small room, and found 
himself in the presence of Madame du 
Maine, the Comte de Laval, Pompadour, 
Valef, Malezieux, and Brigaud. 

All uttered a cry of surprise at seeing 
him. He told his story, and Laval, 
Pompadour, and Valed immediately con- 
sented to follow him, and assist in carry- 
ing off the regent. 

The attempt was, indeed, made; but 
it was soon discovered that their inten- 
tions had been divulged, and a counter 
plot had been prepared for them. 

Scarcely had they made the attack 
upon the Regent’s carriage, when a num- 
ber of soldiers in ambush discharged 
their pieces ; the horse of d’Harmental 
was shot under him. Eight or ten cav- 
aliers, rushing out from a covert, dis- 
mounted and dashed upon the chevalier 
who discharged one of his pistols at ran- 
dom, and with the other endeavored to 
shoot himself. He had not time. Two 
musketeers seized his arm, while four' 
others drew him from beneath his horse. 
They made the pretended prince, who 
was but a valet in disguise, alight from 
the carriage, and obliged d’Harmental 
to get in. A quarter of an hour after- 
wards the carriage rolled over a draw- 
bridge, and d’Harmental passed through 
a sombre and vaulted passage, on the 
other side of which an officer awaited 
him in the uniform of a colonel. 

It was Mons.eur de Launay, governor 
of the Bastile. 


130 


THE ORANGE PLUME ; OR, 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Bathilde was not long in learning 
that her lover was in the Bastile. Fran- 
tic with grief she flew to the arsenal 
and sent for Madame de Launay, who, 
upon her entreaty, led her immediately 
to Madame du Maine. 

Madame du Maine was in moment- 
ary expectation of being arrested, yet 
she gave her sympathy to the dis- 
tracted girl, who had learned that d’ 
Harmental would be executed immedi- 
ately. After consulting with the Duke 
de Riciielieu, the duchess expressed a 
hope that Bathilde would be admitted 
to an audience with the Regent. 

Madame de Mouchy led Bathilde to 
the duke, and introduced her as ‘‘a 
poor girl who loves the Chevalier d’- 
Harmental, who is to be executed to- 
morrow, as you know, and who wishes 
to ask a pardon from the Regent.” 

The duke took her in a carriage to 
the house on the corner of Rue Rich- 
elieu and Rue Saint Honore. There 
they found Mademoiselle de Valois, the 
daughter of the Regent, who led her to 
her lather’s room, and left her there 
alone with him. 

Thus unexpectedly left to rely on her- 
self, Bathilde uttered a faint cry, and the 
Regent who was walking up and down, 
with his head bowed, raised it, and 
turned around. 

Bathilde, incapable of taking one 
step further, fell upon her knees, took 
the letter from her bosom, and held it 
out to the Regent. 

As the Regent approached her, Ba- 
thilde strove in vain to articulate a 
prayer, her voice and her strength failed 
her, and she would have fallen on the 
carpet, if the Regent had not caught her 
in his arms. 

Mademoiselle,” said the Regent, 
upon whom the signs of profound 
grief produced their usual effect ; ‘‘ Mad- 
emoiselle, what ails you ? what can I do 
for you ? Come, copae, rest on the 
fauteuil, I entreat you.” 

‘‘ No, monseigneur, no,” murmured 
Bathilde ; ‘‘ no, my place is at your feet, 
for I am here a suppliant.” 


‘‘Well, then, what is your suit?” 

“ First deign to read this, monseign- 
eur,” said Bathilde, handing the letter 
upon w hich rested her only hope, to the 
Duke d’Orleans. 

The Regent took the letter and recog- 
nizing his own writing, read as follows : 

“ Madame — your husband died for 
France and for me; neither France nor 
myself can restore your husband to you ; 
but, remember that if ever you should 
be in need of anything, we are both your 
debtors. Your affectionate 

Philippe d’Orleans.” 

It took not long to remind the Regent 
of the occasion which produced the 
above letter, and he learned with sur- 
prise that Bathilde was the daughter of 
the man who had saved his life at Ner- 
winde. 

When he also learned that Bathilde 
had been brought up by a man named 
Jean Buvat, he was still more as- 
tonished. 

“Jean Buvat!” cried the Regent; 
“ hold ! I know 'that name. Why, that 
must be the copyist who discovered the 
whole conspiracy ! It seems that 
everything connected with you is des- 
tined to save me.” 

The Regent finally consented that 
Bathilde should visit d’llarmental in 
prison, and ringing a bell he sent for the 
Marquis de Lafare, and bade him ac- 
company Bathilde to the Bastile, send- 
ing at the same time a letter to M. de 
Launay, governor of the prison. 

Heedless of Bathilde’s last cry of 
despair, the Duke of Orleans opened 
the door of a cabinet and disappeared. 

Lafare led off the young girl almost 
in a dying state, and assisted her into 
one of the carriages always in waiting 
in the court of tbe Palais Royal. This 
carriage drove off at a gallop tow^ards 
the Bastile. 

Bathilde spoke not a word during the 
ride ; she was silent, cold, and inan- 
imate as a statue. Her eyes were 
fixed and tearless. They reached the 
Bastille, and in a few minutes, Lafare 
said to Bathilde, as he offered her his 
arm : “ Mademoiselle, tin? church is 
prepared, the priest in w^aiting.” 


THE BRIDE OP THE BASTILE. 


131 


Bathilde was thankful that, at least, 
she should be joined to her love — and 
possess a legal right to spend with him 
the last moment of his existence. 

Bathilde, without reply, arose pale 
and chilled ; then, as she felt her strength 
failing, she leaned upon the offered arm. 
M. de Launay walked fiist, lighted by 
two torch-bearers. 

At the moment when Bathilde enter- 
ed through one cf the side doors, she 
saw the chevalier d’Harmental, who 
came in at the same time, accompanied 
by Valef and Pompadour: these were 
the bridegroom’s witnesses, as M. de 
Launay and Lafare were those of the 
bride. 

The two lovers approached each 
other : Bathilde pale and fainting, 
Raoul calm and smiling. 

The ceremony then took place, and 
Bathilde was united in marriage to the 
Chevalier d’Harmental. 

The chevalier then led Bathilde to 
his room, and when they were locked 
in together, she could no longer restrain 
her tears ; a heart-rending cry escaped 
her, and she sank wringing her hands, 
and sobbing hysterically^ upon a fau- 
teuU, Raoul threw himself at her feet 
and sought to console her ; but he was 
himself so deeply moved by her pro- 
found sorrow, that he could only find 
tears to mingle with her tears. 

They had scarcely been half an hour 
toget^her when they heard the sound of 
footsteps approaching the door, and a 
key turn in the lock. Bathilde shud- 
dered, and pressed d’Harinental con- 
vulsively to her heart. Raoul compre- 
hended the dreadful fear that had 
crossed her mind, and reassured her. 

It was M. de Lanuay who appeared. 

“Monsieur le Chevalier,” said the 
governor, “ have the goodness to follow 
me.” 

Bathilde and d’Harmental rose, and 
all three passed through a number of 
corridors till they reached a court where 
was a carriage with two horses, upon one 
of which sat a postillion ; and the cuiras- 
ses of some dozen musketeers might be 
discerned glittering in the shade. 


They w ere requested to enter the car- 
riage; the door was shut, the vehicle 
moved on, and at length they found 
themselves outside the Bastile. 

The lovers threw themselves into each 
other’s arms; at least, they would not be 
separated, and perpetual imprisonment 
or a life of seclusion, where they would 
unceasingly see each other, would be 
happiness to them. 

At length, the carriage stopped. Both 
trembled lest they should have hoped 
too much, and thrilled with terror. Pre- 
sently, the door was opened by the pos- 
tillion. 

“ What do you want asked d’Har- 
mental. 

“ Why, master,” said the postillion, 
“ I want to know where I am to take 
you.” 

“ How ! where to take me !” cried d’- 
Harmental. “ Have you no orders 

“1 was ordered to take you to the 
forest of Vincennes, between the chateau 
and Nogent sur Marne, and here we 
are.” 

“ And our escort,” asked the cheva- 
lier, “ what has become of them ?” 

“ Your escort ? they left us at the 
barrier.” 

“ Oh !joy 1” cried d’Harmental ; while 
Bathilde, breathless with hope, joined 
her hands in silence. “ My God 1 can 
it be ?” 

They leaped from the carriage. They 
were free as the air they breathed. 

The Regent had simply ordered them 
to conduct the chevalier to the spot 
where the latter had seized upon Bour- 
guignon personifying his master. 

This was the sole revenge of Philip 
the Dehonaire, 


Four years after this event, Buvat, 
well supplied with business and his ar- 
rears paid up, put a pen into the hand 
of a fine boy three years old ; he was 
the son of Raoul and Bathilde. 

The first two names which the child 
wrote were those of Albert du Rocher 
and Clarice Gray. 

The third was that of Philippe d! Or 
leans ^ Regent of France. 


THE 


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